THE  CROSSING 


WINSTON 
CHURCHILL 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Helen  A.  Dillon 


MACMILLAN'S      STANDARD     LIBRARY 


THE  CEOSSING 


IN  THE  GARDEN  AT  TEMPLE  Bow, 


THE    CROSSING 


BY 


WINSTON    CHURCHILL 

AUTHOR   OF   "  RICHARD   CARVEL,"    "  THE   CRISIS," 
"THE  CELEBRITY,"    KTC.,   ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  SYDNEY  ADAMSON 
AND  LILIAN  BAJLISS 


NEW  YORK 
GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPTBIQHT,   1908, 

BT  WINSTON   CHUECHILL. 

COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BT  P.  F.  COLLIEE  &  SON. 

COPYRIGHT,  1904, 
BT  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  May,  1904.     Reprinted 
August,  1904;  October,  1904;  July,  1903  ;  November,  1907  ; 
March,  1909. 


XortoooS  }prrss 

J.  8.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


College 
Library 

"ps 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I.    THE  BOBDERLAHD 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  BLUE  WALL  ........  1 

II.    WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS    .....  7 

III.  CHARLESTOWN        ........  15 

IV.  TEMPLE  Bow          ........  31 

V.     CRAM'S  HELL         .....        ...  44 

VI.    MAN  PROPOSES,  BUT  GOD  DISPOSES     ....  55 

VII.    IN  SIGHT  OF  THE  BLUE  WALL  ONCE  MORE       .        .  67 

VIII.     THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  ......  81 

IX.    ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL        .....  98 

X.    HARRODSTOWN       ........  115 

XI.     FRAGMENTARY       ........  133 

XII.    THE  CAMPAIGN  BEGINS        ......  140 

XIII.  KASKASKIA     .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  151 

XIV.  How  THE  KASKASKIANS  WERE  MADE  CITIZENS         .  165 
XV.    DAYS  OF  TRIAL     ........  174 

XVI.    DAVY  GOES  TO  CAHOKIA      ......  188 

XVII.    THE  SACRIFICE      ........  201 

XVIII.      "  AN'   YE    HAD   BEEN   WHERE   I   HAD    BEEN  "           .            .  209 

XIX.     THE  HAIR  BUYER  TRAPPED         .....  226 

XX.    THE  CAMPAIGN  ENDS    .        .        .        .        .        .        .  242 

BOOK  II.     FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM 

I.    IN  THE  CABIN        ........  252 

II.    "THE  BEGGARS  ARE  COME  TO  TOWN"       .        .        .  265 

v 

It  '""'  x;"~>  *~V-»rf 
v>ouy,j 


ri  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOK 

III.  WE  GO  TO  DANVILLE 276 

IV.  I  CROSS  THE  MOUNTAINS  ONCE  MORE    ....  288 
V.    I  MEET  AN  OLD  BEDFELLOW 292 

VI.    THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S 304 

VII.    I  MEET  A  HERO 318 

VIII.     To  ST.  Louis 329 

IX.       "CHERCHEZ   LA   FfiMME " 340 

X.    THE  KEEL  BOAT 356 

XL     THE  STRANGE  CITY .368 

XII.     LES  ILES 383 

XIII.  MONSIEUR  AUGUSTE  ENTRAPPED 400 

XIV.  RETRIBUTION 410 

BOOK  III.     LOUISIANA 

I.    THE  RIGHTS  OF  MAN 434 

II.  THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS      .....  441 

in.    LOUISVILLE  CELEBRATES 455 

IV.    OF  A  SUDDEN  RESOLUTION 465 

V.  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  HONEYCOMBED  TILES   .        .        .  473 

VI.    MADAME  LA  VICOMTESSE 483 

VII.  THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE  SIEUR  DE  ST.  GRE  .        .        .  493 

VIII.    AT  LAMARQUE'S 510 

IX.    MONSIEUR  LE  BARON 524 

X.     THE  SCOURGE 535 

XL    "  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  LIFE  " 548 

XII.    VISIONS,  AND  AN  AWAKENING 555 

XIII.  A  MYSTERY 565 

XIV.  "  To  UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDREAMED  SHORES  "        .  575 
XV.  AN  EPISODE  IN  IHE  LIFE  OF  A  MAN   ....  589 

AFTERWORD  .  -        •,        .        .        .               •        .  596 


THE   CROSSING- 
BOOK  i 

THE  BOKDEELAND 
CHAPTER   I 

THE  BLUB   WALL 

I  WAS  born  under  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  under  that  side 
which  is  blue  in  the  evening  light,  in  a  wild  land  of  game 
and  forest  and  rushing  waters.  There,  on  the  borders  of 
a  creek  that  runs  into  the  Yadkin  River,  in  a  cabin  that 
was  chinked  with  red  mud,  I  came  into  the  world  a  sub 
ject  of  King  George  the  Third,  in  that  part  of  his  realm 
known  as  the  province  of  North  Carolina. 

The  cabin  reeked  of  corn-pone  and  bacon,  and  the  odor 
of  pelts.  It  had  two  shakedowns,  on  one  of  which  I  slept 
under  a  bearskin.  A  rough  stone  chimney  was  reared  out 
side,  and  the  fireplace  was  as  long  as  my  father  was  tall. 
There  was  a  crane  in  it,  and  a  bake  kettle ;  and  over  it 
great  buckhorns  held  my  father's  rifle  when  it  was  not 
in  use.  On  other  horns  hung  jerked  bear's  meat  and 
venison  hams,  and  gourds  for  drinking  cups,  and  bags  of 
seed,  and  my  father's  best  hunting  shirt;  also,  in  a 
neglected  corner,  several  articles  of  woman's  attire  from 
pegs.  These  once  belonged  to  my  mother.  Among  them 
was  a  gown  of  silk,  of  a  fine,  faded  pattern,  over  which  I 
was  wont  to  speculate.  The  women  at  the  Cross-Roads, 
twelve  miles  away,  were  dressed  in  coarse  butternut  wool 
and  huge  sunbonnets.  But  when  I  questioned  my  father 
on  these  matters  he  would  give  me  no  answers. 


2  THE  CROSSING 

My  father  was  —  how  shall  I  say  what  he  was?  To 
this  day  I  can  only  surmise  many  things  of  him.  He  was 
a  Scotchman  born,  and  I  know  now  that  he  had  a  slight 
Scotch  accent.  At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  my  early 
childhood,  he  was  a  frontiersman  and  hunter.  I  can  see 
him  now,  with  his  hunting  shirt  and  leggings  and  mocca 
sins  ;  his  powder  horn,  engraved  with  wondrous  scenes ; 
his  bullet  pouch  and  tomahawk  and  hunting  knife.  He 
was  a  tall,  lean  man  with  a  strange,  sad  face.  And  he 
talked  little  save  when  he  drank  too  many  "horns,"  as 
they  were  called  in  that  country.  These  lapses  of  my 
father's  were  a  perpetual  source  of  wonder  to  me,  —  and, 
I  must  say,  of  delight.  They  occurred  only  when  a  pass 
ing  traveller  who  hit  his  fancy  chanced  that  way,  or, 
what  was  almost  as  rare,  a  neighbor.  Many  a  winter 
night  I  have  lain  awake  under  the  skins,  listening  to  a 
flow  of  language  that  held  me  spellbound,  though  I  under 
stood  scarce  a  word  of  it. 

"  Virtuous  and  vicious  every  man  must  be, 
Few  in  the  extreme,  but  all  in  a  degree." 

The  chance  neighbor  or  traveller  was  no  less  struck  with 
wonder.  And  many  the  time  have  I  heard  the  query,  at 
the  Cross-Roads  and  elsewhere,  "  Whar  Alec  Trimble  got 
his  larnin'  ?  " 

The  truth  is,  my  father  was  an  object  of  suspicion  to 
the  frontiersmen.  Even  as  a  child  I  knew  this,  and 
resented  it.  He  had  brought  me  up  in  solitude,  and  I  was 
old  for  my  age,  learned  in  some  things  far  beyond  my 
years,  and  ignorant  of  others  I  should  have  known.  I 
loved  the  man  passionately.  In  the  long  winter  evenings, 
when  the  howl  of  wolves  and  "painters "  rose  as  the  wind 
lulled,  he  taught  me  to  read  from  the  Bible  and  the  "  Pil 
grim's  Progress."  I  can  see  his  long,  slim  fingers  on  the 
page.  They  seemed  but  ill  fitted  for  the  life  he  led. 

The  love  of  rhythmic  language  was  somehow  born  into 
me,  and  many's  the  time  I  have  held  watch  in  the  cabin  day 
and  night  while  my  father  was  away  on  his  hunts,  spelling 
out  the  verses  that  have  since  become  part  of  my  life. 


THE  BLUE  WALL  3 

As  I  grew  older  I  went  with  him  into  the  mountains, 
often  on  his  back;  and  spent  the  nights  in  open  camp 
with  my  little  moccasins  drying  at  the  blaze.  So  I  learned 
to  skin  a  bear,  and  fleece  off  the  fat  for  oil  with  my  hunt 
ing  knife ;  and  cure  a  deerskin  and  follow  a  trail.  At 
seven  I  even  shot  the  long  rifle,  with  a  rest.  I  learned 
to  endure  cold  and  hunger  and  fatigue  and  to  walk  in 
silence  over  the  mountains,  my  father  never  saying  a 
word  for  days  at  a  spell.  And  often,  when  he  opened 
his  mouth,  it  would  be  to  recite  a  verse  of  Pope's  in  a 
way  that  moved  me  strangely.  For  a  poem  is  not  a  poem 
unless  it  be  well  spoken. 

In  the  hot  days  of  summer,  over  against  the  dark  for 
est  the  bright  green  of  our  little  patch  of  Indian  corn 
rippled  in  the  wind.  And  towards  night  I  would  often 
sit  watching  the  deep  blue  of  the  mountain  wall  and 
dream  of  the  mysteries  of  the  land  that  lay  beyond. 
And  by  chance,  one  evening  as  I  sat  thus,  my  father  read 
ing  in  the  twilight,  a  man  stood  before  us.  So  silently 
had  he  come  up  the  path  leading  from  the  brook  that  we 
had  not  heard  him.  Presently  my  father  looked  up  from 
his  book,  but  did  not  rise.  As  for  me,  I  had  been  staring 
for  some  time  in  astonishment,  for  he  was  a  better-looking 
man  than  I  had  ever  seen.  He  wore  a  deerskin  hunting 
shirt  dyed  black,  but,  in  place  of  a  coonskin  cap  with  the 
tail  hanging  down,  a  hat.  His  long  rifle  rested  on  the 
ground,  and  he  held  a  roan  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"  Howdy,  neighbor  ?  "  said  he. 

I  recall  a  fear  that  my  father  would  not  fancy  him.  In 
such  cases  he  would  give  a  stranger  food,  and  leave  him 
to  himself.  My  father's  whims  were  past  understanding. 
But  he  got  up. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  he. 

The  visitor  looked  a  little  surprised,  as  I  had  seen  many 
do,  at  my  father's  accent. 

"Neighbor,"  said  he,  "kin  you  keep  me  over  night?" 

"  Come  in,"  said  my  father. 

We  sat  down  to  our  supper  of  corn  and  beans  and  veni 
son,  of  all  of  which  our  guest  ate  sparingly.  He,  too,  was 


4  THE   CROSSING 

a  silent  man,  and  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  during  the 
meal.  Several  times  he  looked  at  me  with  such  a  kindly 
expression  in  his  blue  eyes,  a  trace  of  a  smile  around  his 
broad  mouth,  that  I  wished  he  might  stay  with  us  always. 
But  once,  when  my  father  said  something  about  Indians, 
the  eyes  grew  hard  as  flint.  It  was  then  I  remarked, 
with  a  boy's  wonder,  that  despite  his  dark  hair  he  had 
yellow  eyebrows. 

After  supper  the  two  men  sat  on  the  log  step,  while  I 
set  about  the  task  of  skinning  the  deer  my  father  had 
shot  that  day.  Presently  I  felt  a  heavy  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  What's  your  name,  lad  ?  "  he  said. 

I  told  him  Davy. 

"  Davy,  I'll  larn  ye  a  trick  worth  a  little  time,"  said  he, 
whipping  out  a  knife.  In  a  trice  the  red  carcass  hung 
between  the  forked  stakes,  while  I  stood  with  my  mouth 
open.  He  turned  to  me  and  laughed  gently. 

"  Some  day  you'll  cross  the  mountains  and  skin  twenty 
of  an  evening,"  he  said.  "  Ye'll  make  a  woodsman  sure. 
You've  got  the  eye,  and  the  hand." 

This  little  piece  of  praise  from  him  made  me  hot  all  over. 

"  Game  rare  ?  "  said  he  to  my  father. 

"  None  sae  good,  now,"  said  my  father. 

"  I  reckon  not.  My  cabin's  on  Beaver  Creek  some  forty 
mile  above,  and  game's  going  there,  too." 

"  Settlements,"  said  my  father.  But  presently,  after  a 
few  whiffs  of  his  pipe,  he  added,  "  I  hear  fine  things  of 
this  land  across  the  mountains,  that  the  Indians  call  the 
Dark  and  Bluidy  Ground." 

"  And  well  named,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  But  a  brave  country,"  said  my  father,  "  and  all 
tramped  down  with  game.  I  hear  that  Daniel  Boone 
and  others  have  gone  into  it  and  come  back  with  marvel 
lous  tales.  They  tell  me  Boone  was  there  alone  three 
months.  He's  saething  of  a  man.  D'ye  ken  him?" 

The  ruddy  face  of  the  stranger  grew  ruddier  still. 

"  My  name's  Boone,"  he  said. 

"  What !  "  cried  my  father,  "  it  wouldn't  be  Daniel  ?  " 


THE  BLUE  WALL  ft 

"  You've  guessed  it,  I  reckon." 

My  father  rose  without  a  word,  went  into  the  cabin, 
and  immediately  reappeared  with  a  flask  and  a  couple  of 
gourds,  one  of  which  he  handed  to  our  visitor. 

"  Tell  me  aboot  it,"  said  he. 

That  was  the  fairy  tale  of  my  childhood.  Far  into  the 
night  I  lay  on  the  dewy  grass  listening  to  Mr.  Boone's 
talk.  It  did  not  at  first  flow  in  a  steady  stream,  for  he 
was  not  a  garrulous  man,  but  my  father's  questions  pres 
ently  fired  his  enthusiasm.  I  recall  but  little  of  it,  being 
so  small  a  lad,  but  I  crept  closer  and  closer  until  I  could 
touch  this  superior  being  who  had  been  beyond  the  Wall. 
Marco  Polo  was  no  greater  wonder  to  the  Venetians  than 
Boone  to  me. 

He  spoke  of  leaving  wife  and  children,  and  setting  out 
for  the  Unknown  with  other  woodsmen.  He  told  how, 
crossing  over  our  blue  western  wall  into  a  valley  beyond, 
they  found  a  "  Warrior's  Path "  through  a  gap  across 
another  range,  and  so  down  into  the  fairest  of  promised 
lands.  And  as  he  talked  he  lost  himself  in  the  tale  of  it, 
and  the  very  quality  of  his  voice  changed.  He  told  of  a 
land  of  wooded  hill  and  pleasant  vale,  of  clear  water  run 
ning  over  limestone  down  to  the  great  river  beyond,  the 
Ohio — a  land  of  glades,  the  fields  of  which  were  pied  with 
flowers  of  wondrous  beauty,  where  roamed  the  buffalo  in 
countless  thousands,  where  elk  and  deer  abounded,  and 
turkeys  and  feathered  game,  and  bear  in  the  tall  brakes  of 
cane.  And,  simply,  he  told  how,  when  the  others  had  left 
him,  he  stayed  for  three  months  roaming  the  hills  alone 
with  Nature  herself. 

"  But  did  you  no'  meet  the  Indians  ?  "  asked  my  father. 

"I  seed  one  fishing  on  a  log  once,"  said  our  visitor, 
laughing,  "  but  he  fell  into  the  water.  I  reckon  he  was 
drowned." 

My  father  nodded  coinprehendingly,  —  even  admiringly. 

"  And  again  !  "  said  he. 

"  Wai,"  said  Mr.  Boone,  "  we  fell  in  with  a  war  party 
of  Shawnees  going  back  to  their  lands  north  of  the  great 
river.  The  critters  took  away  all  we  had.  It  was  hard," 


6  THE   CROSSING 

he  added  reflectively ;  "  I  had  staked  my  fortune  on  the 
venter,  and  we'd  got  enough  skins  to  make  us  rich.  But, 
neighbor,  there  is  land  enough  for  you  and  me,  as  black 
and  rich  as  Canaan." 

" '  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,'  "  said  my  father,  lapsing 
into  verse.  " '  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd.  I  shall  not 
want.  He  leadeth  me  into  green  pastures,  and  beside 
still  waters.'  " 

For  a  time  they  were  silent,  each  wrapped  in  his  own 
thought,  while  the  crickets  chirped  and  the  frogs  sang. 
From  the  distant  forest  came  the  mournful  hoot  of  an  owl. 

"  And  you  are  going  back  ?  "  asked  my  father,  presently. 

"  Aye,  that  I  am.  There  are  many  families  on  the  Yad- 
kin  below  going,  too.  And  you,  neighbor,  you  might 
come  with  us.  Davy  is  the  boy  that  would  thrive  in  that 
country." 

My  father  did  not  answer.  It  was  late  indeed  when 
we  lay  down  to  rest,  and  the  night  I  spent  between  wak 
ing  and  dreaming  of  the  wonderland  beyond  the  moun 
tains,  hoping  against  hope  that  my  father  would  go.  The 
sun  was  just  flooding  the  slopes  when  our  guest  arose  to 
leave,  and  my  father  bade  him  God-speed  with  a  heartiness 
that  was  rare  to  him.  But,  to  my  bitter  regret,  neither 
spoke  of  my  father's  going.  Being  a  man  of  understand 
ing,  Mr.  Boone  knew  it  were  little  use  to  press.  He 
patted  me  on  the  head. 

"  Ycu're  a  wise  lad,  Davy,"  said  he.  "  I  hope  we  shall 
meet  again." 

He  mounted  his  roan  and  rode  away  down  the  slope, 
waving  his  hand  to  us.  And  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart 
that  I  went  to  feed  our  white  mare,  whinnying  for  food  in 
the  lean-to. 


CHAPTER  II 

WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS 

AND  so  our  life  went  on  the  same,  but  yet  not  the  same. 
For  I  had  the  Land  of  Promise  to  dream  of,  and  as  I  went 
about  my  tasks  I  conjured  up  in  my  mind  pictures  of  its 
beauty.  You  will  forgive  a  backwoods  boy,  —  self- 
centred,  for  lack  of  wider  interest,  and  with  a  little 
imagination.  Bear  hunting  with  my  father,  and  an 
occasional  trip  on  the  white  mare  twelve  miles  to  the 
Cross-Roads  for  salt  and  other  necessaries,  were  the  only 
diversions  to  break  the  routine  of  my  days.  But  at  the 
Cross-Roads,  too,  they  were  talking  of  Kaintuckee.  For 
so  the  Land  was  called,  the  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground. 

The  next  year  came  a  war  on  the  Frontier,  waged  by 
Lord  Dunmore,  Governor  of  Virginia.  Of  this  likewise 
I  heard  at  the  Cross-Roads,  though  few  from  our  part 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  it.  And  I  heard  there,  for  ru 
mors  spread  over  mountains,  that  men  blazing  in  the  new 
land  were  in  danger,  and  that  my  hero,  Boone,  was  gone 
out  to  save  them.  But  in  the  autumn  came  tidings  of  a 
great  battle  far  to  the  north,  and  of  the  Indians  suing  for 
peace. 

The  next  year  came  more  tidings  of  a  sort  I  did  not 
understand.  I  remember  once  bringing  back  from  the 
Cross-Roads  a  crumpled  newspaper,  which  my  father  read 
again  and  again,  and  then  folded  up  and  put  in  his  pocket. 
He  said  nothing  to  me  of  these  things.  But  the  next  time 
I  went  to  the  Cross-Roads,  the  woman  asked  me  :  — - 

"  Is  your  Pa  for  the  Congress  ?  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  reckon  he  ain't,"  said  the  woman,  tartly.     I  recall 

7 


8  THE  CEOSSING 

her  dimly,  a  slattern  creature  in  a  loose  gown  and  bare 
feet,  wife  of  the  storekeeper  and  wagoner,  with  a  swarm 
of  urchins  about  her.  They  were  all  very  natural  to  me 
thus.  And  I  remember  a  battle  with  one  of  these  urchins 
in  the  briers,  an  affair  which  did  not  add  to  the  love  of 
their  family  for  ours.  There  was  no  money  in  that  coun 
try,  and  the  store  took  our  pelts  in  exchange  for  what  we 
needed  from  civilization.  Once  a  month  would  I  load 
these  pelts  on  the  white  mare,  and  make  the  journey  by 
the  path  down  the  creek.  At  times  I  met  other  settlers 
there,  some  of  them  not  long  from  Ireland,  with  the  brogue 
still  in  their  mouths.  And  again,  I  saw  the  wagoner  with 
his  great  canvas-covered  wagon  standing  at  the  door, 
ready  to  start  for  the  town  sixty  miles  away.  'Twas  he 
brought  the  news  of  this  latest  war. 

One  day  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  wagoner  riding  up 
the  path  to  our  cabin,  crying  out  for  my  father,  for  he 
was  a  violent  man.  And  a  violent  scene  followed.  They 
remained  for  a  long  time  within  the  house,  and  when  they 
came  out  the  wagoner's  face  was  red  with  rage.  My 
father,  too,  was  angry,  but  no  more  talkative  than  usual. 

"Ye  say  ye'll  not  help  the  Congress?"  shouted  the 
wagoner. 

"  I'll  not,"  said  my  father. 

"  Ye'll  live  to  rue  this  day,  Alec  Trimble,"  cried  the 
man.  "  Ye  may  think  ye're  too  fine  for  the  likes  of  us, 
but  there's  them  in  the  settlement  that  knows  about  ye." 

With  that  he  flung  himself  on  his  horse,  and  rode  away. 
But  the  next  time  I  went  to  the  Cross-Roads  the  woman 
drove  me  away  with  curses,  and  called  me  an  aristocrat. 
Wearily  I  tramped  back  the  dozen  miles  up  the  creek, 
beside  the  mare,  carrying  my  pelts  with  me;  stumbling  on 
the  stones,  and  scratched  by  the  dry  briers.  For  it  was 
autumn,  the  woods  all  red  and  yellow  against  the  green 
of  the  pines.  I  sat  down  beside  the  old  beaver  dam  to 
gather  courage  to  tell  my  father.  But  he  only  smiled 
bitterly  when  he  heard  it.  Nor  would  he  tell  me  what 
the  word  aristocrat  meant. 

That  winter  we  spent  without  bacon,  and  our  salt  gave 


WAKS  AND  RUMORS   OF  WARS  9 

out  at  Christmas.  It  was  at  this  season,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  that  we  had  another  visitor.  He  arrived  about 
nightfall  one  gray  day,  his  horse  jaded  and  cut,  and  he 
was  dressed  all  in  wool,  with  a  great  coat  wrapped  about 
him,  and  high  boots.  This  made  me  stare  at  him.  When 
my  father  drew  back  the  bolt  of  the  door  he,  too,  stared 
and  fell  back  a  step. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he. 

"  D'ye  ken  me,  Alec?  "  said  the  man. 

He  was  a  tall,  spare  man  like  my  father,  a  Scotchman, 
but  his  hair  was  in  a  cue. 

"  Come  in,  Duncan,"  said  my  father,  quietly.  "  Davy, 
run  out  for  wood." 

Loath  as  I  was  to  go,  I  obeyed.  As  I  came  back  drag 
ging  a  log  behind  me  I  heard  them  in  argument,  and  in 
their  talk  there  was  much  about  the  Congress,  and  a 
woman  named  Flora  Macdonald,  and  a  British  fleet  sail 
ing  southward. 

"  We'll  have  two  thousand  Highlanders  and  more  to 
meet  the  fleet.  And  ye'll  sit  at  hame,  in  this  hovel  ye've 
made  yeresel"  (and  he  glanced  about  disdainfully')  "and 
no  help  the  King  ?  "  He  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  pine 
boards. 

"  Ye  did  no  help  the  King  greatly  at  Culloden,  Dun 
can,"  said  my  father,  dryly. 

Our  visitor  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  The  Yankee  Rebels  '11  no  help  the  House  of  Stuart," 
said  he,  presently.  "  And  Hanover's  coom  to  stay.  Are 
ye,  too,  a  Rebel,  Alec  Ritchie  ?  " 

I  remember  wondering  why  he  said  Ritchie. 

"  I'll  no  take  a  hand  in  this  fight,"  answered  my  father. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  man  left  with  scant 
ceremony,  I  guiding  him  down  the  creek  to  the  main  trail. 
He  did  not  open  his  mouth  until  I  parted  with  him. 

"  Puir  Davy,"  said  he,  and  rode  away  in  the  night, 
for  the  moon  shone  through  the  clouds. 

I  remember  these  things,  I  suppose,  because  I  had  nothing 
else  to  think  about.  And  the  names  stuck  in  my  memory, 
intensified  by  later  events,  until  I  began  to  write  a  diary. 


10  THE  CROSSING 

And  now  I  come  to  my  travels.  As  the  spring  drew  on 
I  had  had  a  feeling  that  we  could  not  live  thus  forever, 
with  no  market  for  our  pelts.  And  one  day  my  father 
said  to  me  abruptly:  — 

"Davy,  we'll  be  travelling." 

«  Where  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ye'll  ken  soon  enough,"  said  he.  "  We'll  go  at  crack 
o'  day." 

We  went  away  in  the  wild  dawn,  leaving  the  cabin  deso 
late.  We  loaded  the  white  mare  with  the  pelts,  and  my 
father  wore  a  woollen  suit  like  that  of  our  Scotch  visitor, 
which  I  had  never  seen  before.  He  had  clubbed  his  hair. 
But,  strangest  of  all,  he  carried  in  a  small  parcel  the  silk 
gown  that  had  been  my  mother's.  We  had  scant  other 
baggage. 

We  crossed  the  Yadkin  at  a  ford,  and  climbing  the  hills 
to  the  south  of  it  we  went  down  over  stony  traces,  down 
and  down,  through  rain  and  sun ;  stopping  at  rude  cabins 
or  taverns,  until  we  came  into  the  valley  of  another  river. 
This  I  know  now  was  the  Catawba.  My  memories  of  that 
ride  are  as  misty  as  the  spring  weather  in  the  mountains. 
But  presently  the  country  began  to  open  up  into  broad  fields, 
some  of  these  abandoned  to  pines.  And  at  last,  splashing 
through  the  stiff  red  clay  that  was  up  to  the  mare's  fet 
locks,  we  came  to  a  place  called  Charlotte  Town.  What 
a  day  that  was  for  me  I  And  how  I  gaped  at  the  houses 
there,  finer  than  any  I  had  ever  dreamed  of !  That  was 
my  first  sight  of  a  town.  And  how  I  listened  open- 
mouthed  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  tavern!  One  I  recall 
had  a  fighting  head  with  a  lock  awry,  and  a  negro  servant 
to  wait  on  him,  and  was  the  principal  spokesman.  He, 
too,  was  talking  of  war.  The  Cherokees  had  risen  on  the 
western  border.  He  was  telling  of  the  massacre  of  a  set 
tlement,  in  no  mild  language. 

"  Sirs,"  he  cried,  "  the  British  have  stirred  the  redskins 
to  this.  Will  you  sit  here  while  women  and  children  are 
scalped,  and  those  devils  "  (he  called  them  worse  names) 
"Stuart  and  Cameron  go  unpunished?" 

My  father  got  up  from  the  corner  where  he  sat,  and 
stood  beside  the  man. 


WAES  AND  KUMORS   OF  WARS  11 

"  I  ken  Alec  Cameron,"  said  he. 

The  man  looked  at  him  with  amazement. 

"  Ay  ?  "  said  he,  "  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  own  it.  Damn 
him,"  he  cried,  "  if  we  catch  him  we'll  skin  him  alive." 

"  I  ken  Cameron,"  my  father  repeated,  "  and  I'll  gang 
with  you  to  skin  him  alive." 

The  man  seized  his  hand  and  wrung  it. 

"  But  first  I  must  be  in  Charlestown,"  said  my  father. 

The  next  morning  we  sold  our  pelts.  And  though  the 
mare  was  tired,  we  pushed  southward,  I  behind  the  saddle. 
I  had  much  to  think  about,  wondering  what  was  to  become 
of  me  while  my  father  went  to  skin  Cameron.  I  had  not 
the  least  doubt  that  he  would  do  it.  The  world  is  a  story 
book  to  a  lad  of  nine,  and  the  thought  of  Charlestown  filled 
me  with  a  delight  unspeakable.  Perchance  he  would  leave 
me  in  Charlestown. 

At  nightfall  we  came  into  a  settlement  called  the  Wax- 
haws.  And  there  being  no  tavern  there,  and  the  mare 
being  very  jaded  and  the  roads  heavy,  we  cast  about  for  a 
place  to  sleep.  The  sunlight  slanting  over  the  pine  forest 
glistened  on  the  pools  in  the  wet  fields.  And  it  so 
chanced  that  splashing  across  these,  swinging  a  milk-pail 
over  his  head,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  was  a  red 
headed  lad  of  my  own  age.  My  father  hailed  him,  and  he 
came  running  towards  us,  still  shouting,  and  vaulted  the 
rails.  He  stood  before  us,  eying  me  with  a  most  mis 
chievous  look  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  dabbling  in  the  red 
mud  with  his  toes.  I  remember  I  thought  him  a  queer- 
looking  boy.  He  was  lanky,  and  he  had  a  very  long  face 
under  his  tousled  hair. 

My  father  asked  him  where  he  could  spend  the  night. 

"  Wai,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  reckon  Uncle  Crawford  might 
take  you  in.  And  again  he  mightn't." 

He  ran  ahead,  still  swinging  the  pail.  And  we,  follow 
ing,  came  at  length  to  a  comfortable-looking  farmhouse. 
As  we  stopped  at  the  doorway  a  stout,  motherly  woman 
filled  it.  She  held  her  knitting  in  her  hand. 

"  You  Andy  !  "  she  cried,"  have  you  fetched  the  milk  ?  * 

Andy  tried  to  look  repentant. 


12  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  declare  I'll  tan  you,"  said  the  lady.  "  Git  out  this 
instant.  What  rascality  have  you  been  in  ?  " 

"  I  fetched  home  visitors,  Ma,"  said  Andy. 

"Visitors!"  cried  the  lady.  "What  11  your  Uncle 
Crawford  say  ?  "  And  she  looked  at  us  smiling,  but  with 
no  great  hostility. 

"  Pardon  me,  Madam,"  said  my  father,  "  if  we  seem  to 
intrude.  But  my  mare  is  tired,  and  we  have  nowhere  to 
stay." 

Uncle  Crawford  did  take  us  in.  He  was  a  man  of  sub 
stance  in  that  country,  —  a  north  of  Ireland  man  by  birth, 
if  I  remember  right. 

I  went  to  bed  with  the  red-headed  boy,  whose  name  was 
Andy  Jackson.  I  remember  that  his  mother  came  into 
our  little  room  under  the  eaves  and  made  Andy  say  his 
prayers,  and  me  after  him.  But  when  she  was  gone  out, 
Andy  stumped  his  toe  getting  into  bed  in  the  dark  and 
swore  with  a  brilliancy  and  vehemence  that  astonished 
me. 

It  was  some  hours  before  we  went  to  sleep,  he  plying  me 
with  questions  about  my  life,  which  seemed  to  interest 
him  greatly,  and  I  returning  in  kind. 

"  My  Pa's  dead,"  said  Andy.  "  He  came  from  a  part  of 
Ireland  where  they  are  all  weavers.  We're  kinder  poor 
relations  here.  Aunt  Crawford's  sick,  and  Ma  keeps  house. 
But  Uncle  Crawford's  good,  an'  lets  me  go  to  Charlotte 
Town  with  him  sometimes." 

I  recall  that  he  also  boasted  some  about  his  big  brothers, 
who  were  away  just  then. 

Andy  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  to  see  us  start. 
But  we  didn't  start,  because  Mr.  Crawford  insisted  that 
the  white  mare  should  have  a  half  day's  rest.  Andy,  being 
hustled  off  unwillingly  to  the  "  Old  Field  "  school,  made 
me  go  with  him.  He  was  a  very  headstrong  boy. 

I  was  very  anxious  to  see  a  school.  This  one  was  only 
a  log  house  in  a  poor,  piny  place,  with  a  rabble  of  boys 
and  girls  romping  at  the  door.  But  when  they  saw  us 
they  stopped.  Andy  jumped  into  the  air,  let  out  a  war- 
whoop,  and  flung  himself  into  the  midst,  scattering  them 


WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS  13 

right  and  left,  and  knocking  one  boy  over  and  over.  "  I'm 
Billy  Buck  !  "  he  cried.  "  I'm  a  hull  regiment  o'  Rangers. 
Let  th'  Cherokees  mind  me  ! " 

"  Way  for  Sandy  Andy  !  "  cried  the  boys.  "  Where'd 
you  get  the  new  boy,  Sandy  ?  " 

"  His  name's  Davy,"  said  Andy,  "  and  his  Pa's  goin'  to 
fight  the  Cherokees.  He  kin  lick  tarnation  out'n  any  o' 
you." 

Meanwhile  I  held  back,  never  having  been  thrown  with 
so  many  of  my  own  kind. 

"  He's  shot  painters  and  b'ars,"  said  Andy.  "  An' 
skinned  'em.  Kin  you  lick  him,  Smally  ?  I  reckon  not." 

Now  I  had  not  come  to  the  school  for  fighting.  So  I 
held  back.  Fortunately  for  me,  Smally  held  back  also. 
But  he  tried  skilful  tactics. 

"  He  kin  throw  you,  Sandy." 

Andy  faced  me  in  an  instant. 

"  Kin  you  ?  "  said  he. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  try,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
we  were  rolling  on  the  ground,  to  the  huge  delight  of 
Smally  and  the  others,  Andy  shouting  all  the  while  and 
swearing.  We  rolled  and  rolled  and  rolled  in  the  mud, 
until  we  both  lost  our  breath,  and  even  Andy  stopped 
swearing,  for  want  of  it.  After  a  while  the  boys  were 
silent,  and  the  thing  became  grim  earnest.  At  length,  by 
some  accident  rather  than  my  own  strength,  both  his 
shoulders  touched  the  ground.  I  released  him.  But  he 
was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant  and  at  me  again  like  a  wild 
cat. 

"  Andy  won't  stay  throwed,"  shouted  a  boy.  And 
before  I  knew  it  he  had  my  shoulders  down  in  a  puddle. 
Then  I  went  for  him,  and  affairs  were  growing  more  seri 
ous  than  a  wrestle,  when  Smally,  fancying  himself  safe, 
and  no  doubt  having  a  grudge,  shouted  out :  — 

"Tell  him  he  slobbers,  Davy." 

Andy  did  slobber.  But  that  was  the  end  of  me,  and  the 
beginning  of  Smally.  Andy  left  me  instantly,  not  with 
out  an  intimation  that  he  would  come  back,  and  proceeded 
to  cover  Smally  with  red  clay  and  blood.  However,  in  the 


14  THE  CROSSING 

midst  of  this  turmoil  the  schoolmaster  arrived,  haled  both 
into  the  schoolhouse,  held  court,  and  flogged  Andrew  with 
considerable  gusto.  He  pronounced  these  words  after 
wards,  with  great  solemnity  :  — 

"  Andrew  Jackson,  if  I  catch  ye  fightin'  once  more,  I'll 
be  afther  givin'  ye  lave  to  lave  the  school." 

I  parted  from  Andy  at  noon  with  real  regret.  He  was 
the  first  boy  with  whom  I  had  ever  had  any  intimacy. 
And  I  admired  him  :  chiefly,  I  fear,  for  his  fluent  use  of 
profanity  and  his  fighting  qualities.  He  was  a  merry  lad, 
with  a  wondrous  quick  temper  but  a  good  heart.  And 
he  seemed  sorry  to  say  good-by.  He  filled  my  pockets 
with  June  apples  —  unripe,  by  the  way  —  and  told  me  to 
remember  him  when  I  got  till  Charlestown. 

I  remembered  him  much  longer  than  that,  and  usually 
with  a  shock  of  surprise. 


CHAPTER  III 

CHAKLESTOWN 

DOWN  and  down  we  went,  crossing  great  rivers  by  ford 
and  ferry,  until  the  hills  flattened  themselves  and  the 
country  became  a  long  stretch  of  level,  broken  by  the 
forests  only;  and  I  saw  many  things  I  had  not  thought 
were  on  the  earth.  Once  in  a  while  I  caught  glimpses  of 
great  red  houses,  with  stately  pillars,  among  the  trees. 
They  put  me  in  mind  of  the  palaces  in  Bunyan,  their 
windows  all  golden  in  the  morning  sun ;  and  as  we  jogged 
ahead,  I  pondered  on  the  delights  within  them.  I  saw 
gangs  of  negroes  plodding  to  work  along  the  road,  an 
overseer  riding  behind  them  with  his  gun  on  his  back; 
and  there  were  whole  cotton  fields  in  these  domains  blaz 
ing  in  primrose  flower,  —  a  new  plant  here,  so  my  father 
said.  He  was  willing  to  talk  on  such  subjects.  But  on 
others,  and  especially  our  errand  to  Charlestown,  he  would 
say  nothing.  And  I  knew  better  than  to  press  him. 

One  day,  as  we  were  crossing  a  dike  between  rice 
swamps  spread  with  delicate  green,  I  saw  the  white  tops 
of  wagons  flashing  in  the  sun  at  the  far  end  of  it.  We 
caught  up  with  them,  the  wagoners  cracking  their  whips 
and  swearing  at  the  straining  horses.  And  lo  !  in  front 
of  the  wagons  was  an  army,  —  at  least  my  boyish  mind 
magnified  it  to  such.  Men  clad  in  homespun,  per 
spiring  and  spattered  with  mud,  were  straggling  along 
the  road  by  fours,  laughing  and  joking  together.  The 
officers  rode,  and  many  of  these  had  blue  coats  and  buff 
waistcoats,  —  some  the  worse  for  wear.  My  father  was 
pushing  the  white  mare  into  the  ditch  to  ride  by,  when 
one  hailed  him. 

15 


16  THE  CROSSING 

"  Hullo,  my  man,"  said  he,  "  are  you  a  friend  to  Con 
gress  ?  " 

"I'm  off  to  Charlestown  to  leave  the  lad,"  said  my 
father,  "and  then  to  fight  the  Cherokees." 

"  Good,"  said  the  other.  And  then,  "  Where  are  you 
from  ?  " 

"  Upper  Yadkin,"  answered  my  father.     "  And  you  ?  " 

The  officer,  who  was  a  young  man,  looked  surprised. 
But  then  he  laughed  pleasantly. 

"We're  North  Carolina  troops,  going  to  join  Lee  in 
Charlestown,"  said  he.  "  The  British  are  sending  a  fleet 
and  regiments  against  it." 

"  Oh,  aye,"  said  my  father,  and  would  have  passed  on. 
But  he  was  made  to  go  before  the  Colonel,  who  plied  him 
with  many  questions.  Then  he  gave  us  a  paper  and  dis 
missed  us. 

We  pursued  our  journey  through  the  heat  that  shim 
mered  up  from  the  road,  pausing  now  and  again  in  the 
shade  of  a  wayside  tree.  At  times  I  thought  I  could  bear 
the  sun  no  longer.  But  towards  four  o'clock  of  that  day 
a  great  bank  of  yellow  cloud  rolled  up,  darkening  the 
earth  save  for  a  queer  saffron  light  that  stained  every 
thing,  and  made  our  very  faces  yellow.  And  then  a  wind 
burst  out  of  the  east  with  a  high  mournful  note,  as  from 
a  great  flute  afar,  filling  the  air  with  leaves  and  branches 
of  trees.  But  it  bore,  too,  a  savor  that  was  new  to  me,  — 
a  salt  savor,  deep  and  fresh,  that  I  drew  down  into  my 
lungs.  And  I  knew  that  we  were  near  the  ocean.  Then 
came  the  rain,  in  great  billows,  as  though  the  ocean  itself 
were  upon  us. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  a  ferry  on  the  Ashley  River,  and 
rode  down  the  sand  of  Charlestown  neck.  And  my  most 
vivid  remembrance  is  of  the  great  trunks  towering  half  a 
hundred  feet  in  the  air,  with  a  tassel  of  leaves  at  the  top, 
which  my  father  said  were  palmettos.  Something  lay  heavy 
on  his  mind.  For  I  had  grown  to  know  his  moods  by  a  sort 
of  silent  understanding.  And  when  the  roofs  and  spires 
of  the  town  shone  over  the  foliage  in  the  afternoon  sun, 
I  felt  him  give  a  great  sigh  that  was  like  a  sob. 


CHARLESTOWN  17 

And  how  shall  I  describe  the  splendor  of  that  city? 
The  sandy  streets,  and  the  gardens  of  flower  and  shade, 
heavy  with  the  plant  odors;  and  the  great  houses  with 
their  galleries  and  porticos  set  in  the  midst  of  the  gardens, 
that  I  remember  staring  at  wistfully.  But  before  long  we 
came  to  a  barricade  fixed  across  the  street,  and  then  to 
another.  And  presently,  in  an  open  space  near  a  large 
building,  was  a  company  of  soldiers  at  drill. 

It  did  not  strike  me  as  strange  then  that  my  father 
asked  his  way  of  no  man,  but  went  to  a  little  ordinary  in 
a  humbler  part  of  the  town.  After  a  modest  meal  in  a 
corner  of  the  public  room,  we  went  out  for  a  stroll.  Then, 
from  the  wharves,  I  saw  the  bay  dotted  with  islands,  their 
white  sand  sparkling  in  the  evening  light,  and  fringed 
with  strange  trees,  and  beyond,  of  a  deepening  blue, 
the  ocean.  And  nearer,  —  greatest  of  all  delights  to  me, 
—  riding  on  the  swell  was  a  fleet  of  ships.  My  father 
gazed  at  them  long  and  silently,  his  palm  over  his  eyes. 

"  Men-o'-war  from  the  old  country,  lad,"  he  said  after  a 
while.  "  They're  a  brave  sight." 

"  And  why  are  they  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  They've  come  to  fight,"  said  he,  "  and  take  the  town 
again  for  the  King." 

It  was  twilight  when  we  turned  to  go,  and  then  I  saw 
that  many  of  the  warehouses  along  the  wharves  were 
heaps  of  ruins.  My  father  said  this  was  that  the  town 
might  be  the  better  defended. 

We  bent  our  way  towards  one  of  the  sandy  streets  where 
the  great  houses  were.  And  to  my  surprise  we  turned  in 
at  a  gate,  and  up  a  path  leading  to  the  high  steps  of  one 
of  these.  Under  the  high  portico  the  door  was  open,  but 
the  house  within  was  dark.  My  father  paused,  and  the 
hand  he  held  to  mine  trembled.  Then  he  stepped  across 
the  threshold,  and  raising  the  big  polished  knocker  that 
hung  on  the  panel,  let  it  drop.  The  sound  reverberated 
through  the  house,  and  then  stillness.  And  then,  from 
within,  a  shuffling  sound,  and  an  old  negro  came  to  the 
door.  For  an  instant  he  stood  staring  through  the  dusk, 
and  broke  into  a  cry. 


18  THE  CROSSING 

"  Marse  Alec  !  "  he  said. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?  "  said  my  father. 

Without  another  word  he  led  us  through  a  deep  hall, 
and  out  into  a  gallery  above  the  trees  of  a  back  garden, 
where  a  gentleman  sat  smoking  a  long  pipe.  The  old 
negro  stopped  in  front  of  him. 

"  Marse  John,"  said  he,  his  voice  shaking,  "  heah's  Marse 
Alec  done  come  back." 

The  gentleman  got  to  his  feet  with  a  start.  His  pipe 
fell  to  the  floor,  and  the  ashes  scattered  on  the  boards  and 
lay  glowing  there. 

"  Alec  !  "  he  cried,  peering  into  my  father's  face,  "Alec  ! 
You're  not  dead." 

"  John,"  said  my  father,  "  can  we  talk  here  ?  " 

"  Good  God!  "  said  the  gentleman,  "  you're  just  the  same. 
To  think  of  it  —  to  think  of  it!  Breed,  a  light  in  the 
drawing-room." 

There  was  no  word  spoken  while  the  negro  was  gone, 
and  the  time  seemed  very  long.  But  at  length  he  re 
turned,  a  silver  candlestick  in  each  hand. 

"  Careful,"  cried  the  gentleman,  petulantly,  "  you'll  drop 
them." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  house,  and  through  the  hall  to 
a  massive  door  of  mahogany  with  a  silver  door-knob.  The 
grandeur  of  the  place  awed  me,  and  well  it  might.  Boy- 
like,  I  was  absorbed  in  this.  Our  little  mountain  cabin 
would  almost  have  gone  into  this  one  room.  The  candles 
threw  their  flickering  rays  upward  until  they  danced  on 
the  high  ceiling.  Marvel  of  marvels,  in  the  oval  left  clear 
by  the  heavy,  rounded  cornice  was  a  picture. 

The  negro  set  down  the  candles  on  the  marble  top  of  a 
table.  But  the  air  of  the  room  was  heavy  and  close,  and 
the  gentleman  went  to  a  window  and  flung  it  open.  It 
came  down  instantly  with  a  crash,  so  that  the  panes  rattled 
again. 

"  Curse  these  Rebels,"  he  shouted,  "  they've  taken  our 
window  weights  to  make  bullets." 

Calling  to  the  negro  to  pry  open  the  window  with  a 
walking-stick,  he  threw  himself  into  a  big,  upholstered 


CHARLESTOWN  19 

chair.  'Twas  then  I  remarked  the  splendor  of  his 
clothes,  which  were  silk.  And  he  wore  a  waistcoat  all 
sewed  with  flowers.  With  a  boy's  intuition,  I  began  to 
dislike  him  intensely. 

"Damn  the  Rebels!"  he  began.  "They've  driven  his 
Lordship  away.  I  hope  his  Majesty  will  hang  every 
mother's  son  of  'em.  All  pleasure  of  life  is  gone,  and 
they've  folly  enough  to  think  they  can  resist  the  fleet. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is,"  cried  he,  "  the  worst  of  it  is,  I'm 
forced  to  smirk  to  them,  and  give  good  gold  to  their 
government."  Seeing  that  my  father  did  not  answer,  he 
asked :  "  Have  you  joined  the  Highlanders  ?  You  were 
always  for  fighting." 

"  I'm  to  be  at  Cherokee  Ford  on  the  twentieth,"  said  my 
father.  "  We're  to  scalp  the  redskins  and  Cameron,  though 
'tis  not  known." 

"  Cameron!  "  shrieked  the  gentleman.  "  But  that's  the 
other  side,  man  !  Against  his  Majesty  ?  " 

"One  side  or  t'other,"  said  my  father,  "'tis  all  one 
against  Alec  Cameron." 

The  gentleman  looked  at  my  father  with  something  like 
terror  in  his  eyes. 

"  You'll  never  forgive  Cameron,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  no  forgive  anybody  who  does  me  a  wrong,"  said 
my  father. 

"And  where  have  you  been  all  these  years,  Alec?"  he 
asked  presently.  "  Since  you  went  off  with  —  " 

"  I've  been  in  the  mountains,  leading  a  pure  life,"  said 
my  father.  "  And  we'll  speak  of  nothing,  if  you  please, 
that's  gone  by." 

"  And  what  will  you  have  me  do  ? "  said  the  gentle 
man,  helplessly. 

"  Little  enough,"  said  my  father.  "  Keep  the  lad  till 
I  come  again.  He's  quiet.  He'll  no  trouble  you  greatly. 
Davy,  this  is  Mr.  Temple.  You're  to  stay  with  him  till 
I  come  again." 

"  Come  here,  lad,"  said  the  gentleman,  and  he  peered 
into  my  face.  "  You'll  not  resemble  your  mother. " 

"  He'll    resemble    no    one,"   said   my    father,   shortly. 


20  THE  CROSSING 

"  Good-by,  Davy.  Keep  this  till  I  come  again."  And 
he  gave  me  the  parcel  made  of  my  mother's  gown.  Then 
he  lifted  me  in  his  strong  arms  and  kissed  me,  and  strode 
out  of  the  house.  We  listened  in  silence  as  he  went  down 
the  steps,  and  until  his  footsteps  died  away  on  the  path. 
Then  the  gentleman  rose  and  pulled  a  cord  hastily.  The 
negro  came  in. 

"  Put  the  lad  to  bed,  Breed,"  said  he. 

"  Whah,  suh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anywhere,"  said  the  master.  He  turned  to  me. 
"  I'll  be  better  able  to  talk  to  you  in  the  morning,  David," 
said  he. 

I  followed  the  old  servant  up  the  great  stairs,  gulping 
down  a  sob  that  would  rise,  and  clutching  my  mother's 
gown  tight  under  my  arm.  Had  my  father  left  me  alone 
in  our  cabin  for  a  fortnight,  I  should  not  have  minded. 
But  here,  in  this  strange  house,  amid  such  strange  surround 
ings,  I  was  heartbroken.  The  old  negro  was  very  kind. 
He  led  me  into  a  little  bedroom,  and  placing  the  candle  on 
a  polished  dresser,  he  regarded  me  with  sympathy. 

"  So  you're  Miss  Lizbeth's  boy,"  said  he.  "  An'  she 
dade.  An'  Marse  Alec  rough  an'  hard  es  though  he  been 
bo'n  in  de  woods.  Honey,  ol'  Breed  '11  tek  care  ob  you. 
I'll  git  you  one  o'  dem  night  rails  Marse  Nick  has,  and 
some  ob  his'n  close  in  de  mawnin'." 

These  things  I  remember,  and  likewise  sobbing  myself 
to  sleep  in  the  four-poster.  Often  since  I  have  wished 
that  I  had  questioned  Breed  of  many  things  on  which  I 
had  no  curiosity  then,  for  he  was  my  chief  companion  in 
the  weeks  that  followed.  He  awoke  me  bright  and  early 
the  next  day. 

"  Heah's  some  close  o'  Marse  Nick's  you  kin  wear,  honey," 
he  said. 

"  Who  is  Master  Nick  ?  "  I  asked. 

Breed  slapped  his  thigh. 

"  Marse  Nick  Temple,  Marsa's  son.  He's  'bout  you 
size,  but  he  ain'  no  mo'  laik  you  den  a  jack  rabbit's  laik 
an'  owl.  Dey  ain'  none  laik  Marse  Nick  fo'  gittin'  into 
trouble  —  and  gittin'  out  agin." 


CHAKLESTOWN  21 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  at  Temple  Bow,  on  de  Ashley  Ribber.  Dat's  de 
Marsa's  barony." 

"  His  what  ?  " 

"De  place  whah  he  lib  at,  in  de  country." 

"  And  why  isn't  the  master  there  ?  " 

I  remember  that  Breed  gave  a  wink,  and  led  me  out  of 
the  window  on  to  a  gallery  above  the  one  where  we  had 
found  the  master  the  night  before.  He  pointed  across  the 
dense  foliage  of  the  garden  to  a  strip  of  water  gleaming  in 
the  morning  sun  beyond. 

"  See  dat  boat  ?  "  said  the  negro.  "  Sometime  de  Marse 
he  tek  ar  ride  in  dat  boat  at  night.  Sometime  gentlemen 
comes  heah  in  a  pow'ful  hurry  to  git  away,  out'n  de  harbor 
whah  de  English  is  at." 

By  that  time  I  was  dressed,  and  marvellously  uncomfort 
able  in  Master  Nick's  clothes.  But  as  I  was  going  out  of 
the  door,  Breed  hailed  me. 

"  Marse  Dave,"  —  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  called 
that,  —  "  Marse  Dave,  you  ain't  gwineter  tell  ?  " 

"  Tell  what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Bout'n  de  boat,  and  Marsa  agwine  away  nights." 

"  No,"  said  I,  indignantly. 

"  I  knowed  you  wahn't,"  said  Breed.  "  You  don'  look 
as  if  you'd  tell  anything." 

We  found  the  master  pacing  the  lower  gallery.  At 
first  he  barely  glanced  at  me,  and  nodded.  After  a 
while  he  stopped,  and  began  to  put  to  me  many  questions 
about  my  life  :  when  and  how  I  had  lived.  And  to  some 
of  my  answers  he  exclaimed,  "  Good  God  !  "  That  was 
all.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  with  hands  like  a  woman's, 
well  set  off  by  the  lace  at  his  sleeves.  He  had  fine- 
cut  features,  and  the  white  linen  he  wore  was  most  be 
coming. 

"  David,"  said  he,  at  length,  and  I  noted  that  he  lowered 
his  voice,  "  David,  you  seem  a  discreet  lad.  Pay  attention 
to  what  I  tell  you.  And  mark  !  if  you  disobey  me,  you 
will  be  well  whipped.  You  have  this  house  and  garden  to 
play  in,  but  you  are  by  no  means  to  go  out  at  the  front  of 


22  THE   CROSSING 

the  house.  And  whatever  you  may  see  or  hear,  you  are 
to  tell  no  one.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  For  the  rest,"  said  he,  "  Breed  will  give  you  food,  and 
look  out  for  your  welfare." 

And  so  he  dismissed  me.  They  were  lonely  days  after 
that  for  a  boy  used  to  activity,  and  only  the  damp  garden 
paths  and  lawns  to  run  on.  The  creek  at  the  back  of  the 
garden  was  stagnant  and  marshy  when  the  water  fell,  and 
overhung  by  leafy  boughs.  On  each  side  of  the  garden 
was  a  high  brick  wall.  And  though  I  was  often  tempted 
to  climb  it,  I  felt  that  disobedience  was  disloyalty  to  my 
father.  Then  there  was  the  great  house,  dark  and  lonely 
in  its  magnificence,  over  which  I  roamed  until  I  knew 
every  corner  of  it. 

I  was  most  interested  of  all  in  the  pictures  of  men  and 
women  in  quaint,  old-time  costumes,  and  I  used  during  the 
great  heat  of  the  day  to  sit  in  the  drawing-room  and  study 
these,  and  wonder  who  they  were  and  when  they  lived. 
Another  amusement  I  had  was  to  climb  into  the  deep 
windows  and  peer  through  the  blinds  across  the  front  gar 
den  into  the  street.  Sometimes  men  stopped  and  talked 
loudly  there,  and  again  a  rattle  of  drums  would  send  me 
running  to  see  the  soldiers.  I  recall  that  I  had  a  poor 
enough  notion  of  what  the  fighting  was  all  about.  And 
no  wonder.  But  I  remember  chiefly  my  insatiable  longing 
to  escape  from  this  prison,  as  the  great  house  soon  became 
for  me.  And  I  yearned  with  a  yearning  I  cannot  express 
for  our  ca,bin  in  the  hills  and  the  old  life  there. 

I  caught  glimpses  of  the  master  on  occasions  only,  and 
then  I  aAroided  him  ;  for  I  knew  he  had  no  wish  to  see 
me.  Sometimes  he  would  be  seated  in  the  gallery,  tapping 
his  foot  on  the  floor,  and  sometimes  pacing  the  garden 
walks  with  his  hands  opening  and  shutting.  And  one 
night  I  awoke  with  a  start,  and  lay  for  a  while  listening 
until  I  heard  something  like  a  splash,  and  the  scraping  of 
the  bottom-boards  of  a  boat.  Irresistibly  I  jumped  out 
of  bed,  and  running  to  the  gallery  rail  I  saw  two  dark 
figures  moving  among  the  leaves  below.  The  next  morn- 


CHARLESTOWN  23 

ing  I  came  suddenly  on  a  strange  gentleman  in  the  gallery. 
He  wore  a  flowered  dressing-gown  like  the  one  I  had  seen 
on  the  master,  and  he  had  a  jolly,  round  face.  I  stopped 
and  stared. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ? "  said  he,  but  not  un 
kindly. 

"  My  name  is  David  Trimble,"  said  I,  "  and  I  come  from 
the  mountains." 

He  laughed. 

"  Mr.  David  Trimble-from-the-mountains,  who  the  devil 
am  I  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  and  I  started  to  go  away,  not 
wishing  to  disturb  him. 

"  Avast  !  "  he  cried.  "  Stand  fast.  See  that  you 
remember  that." 

"  I'm  not  here  of  my  free  will,  sir,  but  because  my 
father  wishes  it.  And  I'll  betray  nothing." 

Then  he  stared  at  me. 

"  How  old  did  you  say  you  were  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  didn't  say,"  said  I. 

"  And  you  are  of  Scotch  descent  ? '   said  he. 

"  I  didn't  say  so,  sir." 

"  You're  a  rum  one,"  said  he,  laughing  again,  and  he 
disappeared  into  the  house. 

That  day,  when  Breed  brought  me  my  dinner  on  my 
gallery,  he  did  not  speak  of  a  visitor.  You  may  be  sure  I 
did  not  mention  the  circumstance.  But  Breed  always  told 
me  the  outside  news. 

"  Dey's  gittin'  ready  fo'  a  big  fight,  Marse  Dave,"  said 
he.  "  Mister  Moultrie  in  the  fo't  in  de  bay,  an'  Marse 
Gen'l  Lee  tryin'  for  to  boss  him.  Dey's  Rebels.  An' 
Marse  Admiral  Parker  an'  de  King's  reg'ments  fixin'  fo'  to 
tek  de  fo't,  an'  den  Charlesto'n.  Dey  say  Mister  Moultrie 
ain't  got  no  mo'  chance  dan  a  treed  'possum." 

"  Why,  Breed  ?  "  I  asked.  I  had  heard  my  father  talk  of 
England's  power  and  might,  and  Mister  Moultrie  seemed 
to  me  a  very  brave  man  in  his  little  fort. 

"Why!  "  exclaimed  the  old  negro.  "You  ain't  neber 
read  no  hist'ry  books.  I  knows  some  of  de  gentlemen 


24  THE  CROSSING 

wid  Mister  Moultrie.  Dey  ain't  no  soldiers.  Some  is 
fine  gentlemen,  to  be  suah,  but  it's  jist  foolishness  to  fight 
dat  fleet  an'  army.  Marse  Gen'l  Lee  hisself,  he  done 
sesso.  I  heerd  him." 

"  And  he's  on  Mister  Moultrie's  side  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Sholy,"  said  Breed.     "  He's  de  Rebel  gen'l." 

"  Then  he's  a  knave  and  a  coward!  "  I  cried  with  a  boy's 
indignation.  "Where  did  you  hear  him  say  that?"  I 
demanded,  incredulous  of  some  of  Breed's  talk. 

"  Right  heah  in  dis  house,"  he  answered,  and  quickly 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  showed  the  whites  of 
his  eyes.  "  You  ain't  agwineter  tell  dat,  Marse  Dave?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  I.  And  then :  "  I  wish  I  could 
see  Mister  Moultrie  in  his  fort,  and  the  fleet." 

"  Why,  honey,  so  you  kin,"  said  Breed. 

The  good-natured  negro  dropped  his  work  and  led  the 
way  upstairs,  I  following  expectant,  to  the  attic.  A  rick 
ety  ladder  rose  to  a  kind  of  tower  (cupola,  I  suppose  it 
would  be  called),  whence  the  bay  spread  out  before  me 
like  a  picture,  the  white  islands  edged  with  the  whiter 
lacing  of  the  waves.  There,  indeed,  was  the  fleet,  but  far 
away,  like  toy  ships  on  the  water,  and  the  bit  of  a  fort 
perched  on  the  sandy  edge  of  an  island.  I  spent  most  of 
that  day  there,  watching  anxiously  for  some  movement. 
But  none  came. 

That  night  I  was  again  awakened.  And  running  into 
the  gallery,  I  heard  quick  footsteps  in  the  garden.  Then 
there  was  a  lantern's  flash,  a  smothered  oath,  and  all  was 
dark  again.  But  in  the  flash  I  had  seen  distinctly  three 
figures.  One  was  Breed,  and  he  held  the  lantern ;  another 
was  the  master;  and  the  third,  a  stout  one  muffled  in  a 
cloak,  I  made  no  doubt  was  my  jolly  friend.  I  lay  long 
awake,  with  a  boy's  curiosity,  until  presently  the  dawn 
broke,  and  I  arose  and  dressed,  and  began  to  wander  about 
the  house.  No  Breed  was  sweeping  the  gallery,  nor  was 
there  any  sign  of  the  master.  The  house  was  as  still  as  a 
tomb,  and  the  echoes  of  my  footsteps  rolled  through  the 
halls  and  chambers.  At  last,  prompted  by  curiosity  and 
fear,  I  sought  the  kitchen,  where  I  had  often  sat  with 


CHAELESTOWN  25 

Breed  as  he  cooked  the  master's  dinner.  This  was  at  the 
bottom  and  end  of  the  house.  The  great  fire  there  was 
cold,  and  the  pots  and  pans  hung  neatly  on  their  hooks, 
untouched  that  day.  I  was  running  through  the  wet 
garden,  glad  to  be  out  in  the  light,  when  a  sound 
stopped  me. 

It  was  a  dull  roar  from  the  direction  of  the  bay.  Almost 
instantly  came  another,  and  another,  and  then  several 
broke  together.  And  I  knew  that  the  battle  had  begun. 
Forgetting  for  the  moment  my  loneliness,  I  ran  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  up  the  ladder 
into  the  cupola,  where  I  flung  open  the  casement  and 
leaned  out. 

There  was  the  battle  indeed,  —  a  sight  so  vivid  to  me 
after  all  these  years  that  I  can  call  it  again  before  me 
when  I  will.  The  toy  men-o'-war,  with  sails  set,  ranging 
in  front  of  the  fort.  They  looked  at  my  distance  to  be 
pressed  against  it.  White  puffs,  like  cotton  balls,  would 
dart  one  after  another  from  a  ship's  side,  melt  into  a  cloud, 
float  over  her  spars,  and  hide  her  from  my  view.  And  then 
presently  the  roar  would  reach  me,  and  answering  puffs 
along  the  line  of  the  fort.  And  I  could  see  the  mortar 
shells  go  up  and  i;.p,  leaving  a  scorched  trail  behind,  curve 
in  a  great  circle,  and  fall  upon  the  little  garrison.  Mister 
Moultrie  became  a  real  person  to  me  then,  a  vivid  picture 
in  my  boyish  mind  —  a  hero  beyond  all  other  heroes. 

As  the  sun  got  up  in  the  heavens  and  the  wind  fell,  the 
cupola  became  a  bake-oven.  But  I  scarcely  felt  the  heat. 
My  whole  soul  was  out  in  the  bay,  pent  up  with  the  men  in 
the  fort.  How  long  could  they  hold  out  ?  Why  were  they 
not  all  killed  by  the  shot  that  fell  like  hail  among  them? 
Yet  puff  after  puff  sprang  from  their  guns,  and  the  sound 
of  it  was  like  a  storm  coming  nearer  in  the  heat.  But  at 
noon  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  some  of  the  ships  were 
sailing.  It  was  true.  Slowly  they  drew  away  from  the 
others,  and  presently  I  thought  they  had  stopped  again. 
Surely  two  of  them  were  stuck  together,  then  three  were 
fast  on  a  shoal.  Boats,  like  black  bugs  in  the  water,  came 
and  went  between  them  and  the  others.  After  a  long  time 


26  THE  CKOSSING 

the  two  that  were  together  got  apart  and  away.  But  the 
third  stayed  there,  immovable,  helpless. 

Throughout  the  afternoon  the  tight  kept  on,  the  little 
black  boats  coming  and  going.  I  saw  a  mast  totter  and 
fall  on  one  of  the  ships.  I  saw  the  flag  shot  away  from 
the  fort,  and  reappear  again.  But  now  the  puffs  came 
from  her  walls  slowly  and  more  slowly,  so  that  my  heart 
sank  with  the  setting  sun.  And  presently  it  grew  too 
dark  to  see  aught  save  the  red  flashes.  Slowly,  reluc 
tantly,  the  noise  died  down  until  at  last  a  great  silence 
reigned,  broken  only  now  and  again  by  voices  in  the 
streets  below  me.  It  was  not  until  then  that  I  realized 
that  I  had  been  all  day  without  food  —  that  I  was  alone 
in  the  dark  of  a  great  house. 

I  had  never  known  fear  in  the  woods  at  night.  But  now 
I  trembled  as  I  felt  my  way  down  the  ladder,  and  groped 
and  stumbled  through  the  black  attic  for  the  stairs. 
Every  noise  I  made  seemed  louder  an  hundred  fold  than 
the  battle  ha-d  been,  and  when  I  barked  my  shins,  the  pain 
was  sharper  than  a  knife.  Below,  on  the  big  stairway, 
the  echo  of  my  footsteps  sounded  again  from  the  empty 
rooms,  so  that  I  vas  taken  with  a  panic  and  fled  down 
ward,  sliding  and  falling,  until  I  reached  the  hall.  Fran 
tically  as  I  tried,  I  could  not  unfasten  the  bolts  on  the 
front  door.  And  so,  running  into  the  drawing-room,  I 
pried  open  the  window,  and  sat  me  down  in  the  embrasure 
to  think,  and  to  try  to  quiet  the  thumpings  of  my  heart. 

By  degrees  I  succeeded.  The  still  air  of  the  night  and 
the  heavy,  damp  odors  of  the  foliage  helped  me.  And  I 
tried  to  think  what  was  right  for  me  to  do.  I  had  prom 
ised  the  master  not  to  leave  the  place,  and  that  promise 
seemed  in  pledge  to  my  father.  Surely  the  master  would 
come  back  —  or  Breed.  They  would  not  leave  me  here 
alone  without  food  much  longer.  Although  I  was  young, 
I  was  brought  up  to  responsibility.  And  I  inherited  a 
conscience  that  has  since  given  me  much  trouble. 

From  these  thoughts,  trying  enough  for  a  starved  lad, 
I  fell  to  thinking  of  my  father  on  the  frontier  fighting 
the  Cherokees.  And  so  I  dozed  away  to  dream  of  him. 


CHAELESTOWN  27 

I  remember  that  he  was  skinning  Cameron,  —  I  had  often 
pictured  it,  —  and  Cameron  yelling,  when  I  was  awakened 
with  a  shock  by  a  great  noise. 

I  listened  with  my  heart  in  my  throat.  The  noise 
seemed  to  come  from  the  hall,  —  a  prodigious  pounding. 
Presently  it  stopped,  and  a  man's  voice  cried  out:  — 

"  Ho  there,  within  !  " 

My  first  impulse  was  to  answer.  But  fear  kept  me 
still. 

"  Batter  down  the  door,"  some  one  shouted. 

There  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  in  the  portico,  and  the 
same  voice  :  — 

"  Now  then,  all  together,  lads  !  " 

Then  came  a  straining  and  splitting  of  wood,  and  with 
a  crash  the  door  gave  way.  A  lantern's  rays  shot  through 
the  hall. 

"  The  house  is  as  dark  as  a  tomb,"  said  a  voice. 

"  And  as  empty,  I  reckon,"  said  another.  "  John 
Temple  and  his  spy  have  got  away." 

"  We'll  have  a  search,"  answered  the  first  voice. 

They  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  drawing-room  door, 
peering,  and  then  they  entered.  There  were  five  of  them. 
Two  looked  to  be  gentlemen,  and  three  were  of  rougher 
appearance.  They  carried  lanterns. 

"That  window's  open,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen. 
"  They  must  have  been  here  to-day.  Hello,  what's  this  ?  " 
He  started  back  in  surprise. 

I  slid  down  from  the  window-seat,  and  stood  facing 
them,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do.  They,  too,  seemed 
equally  confounded. 

"  It  must  be  Temple's  son,"  said  one,  at  last.  "  I  had 
thought  the  family  at  Temple  Bow.  What's  your  name, 
my  lad  ?  " 

David  Trimble,  sir,"  said  I. 

And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  asked  more  sternly. 
I  was  left  in  Mr.  Temple's  care  by  my  father." 
Oho  ! "  he  cried.     "  And  where  is  your  father  ?  " 
'  He's  gone  to  fight  the  Cherokees,"  I  answered  soberly. 
"To  skin  a  man  named  Cameron." 


28  THE  CROSSING 

At  that  they  were  silent  for  an  instant,  and  then  the 
two  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Egad,  Lowndes,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  here  is  a  fine 
mystery.  Do  you  think  the  boy  is  lying  ?  " 

The  other  gentleman  scratched  his  forehead. 

"  I'll  have  you  know  I  don't  lie,  sir,"  I  said,  ready  to 
cry. 

"No,"  said  the  other  gentleman.  "A  backwoodsman 
named  Trimble  went  to  Rutledge  with  credentials  from 
North  Carolina,  and  has  gone  off  to  Cherokee  Ford  to 
join  McCall." 

"  Bless  my  soul  !  "  exclaimed  the  first  gentleman.  He 
came  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  said  :  — 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Temple  ?  " 

"That  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  When  did  he  go  away  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  That  I  can't  tell  you,  sir." 

"  Was  there  any  one  with  him  ?  " 

"That  I  can't  tell  you,  sir." 

"  The  devil  you  can't !  "  he  cried,  taking  his  hand  away. 
"And  why  not?" 

I  shook  my  head,  sorely  beset. 

"  Come,  Mathews,"  cried  the  gentleman  called  Lowndes. 
"  We'll  search  first,  and  attend  to  the  lad  after." 

And  so  they  began  going  through  the  house,  prying  into 
every  cupboard  and  sweeping  under  every  bed.  They 
even  climbed  to  the  attic ;  and  noting  the  open  casement 
in  the  cupola,  Mr.  Lowndes  said  :  — 

"  Some  one  has  been  here  to-day." 

"  It  was  I,  sir,"  I  said.     "  I  have  been  here  all  day." 

"  And  what  doing,  pray  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Watching  the  battle.  And  oh,  sir,"  I  cried,  "  can  you 
tell  me  whether  Mister  Moultrie  beat  the  British  ?  " 

"  He  did  so,"  cried  Mr.  Lowndes.  "  He  did,  and 
soundly." 

He  stared  at  me.     I  must  have  looked  my  pleasure. 

"  Why,  David,"  says  he,  "  you  are  a  patriot,  too." 

"  I  am  a  Rebel,  sir,"  I  cried  hotly. 


CHAKLESTOWN  29 

Both  gentlemen  laughed  again,  and  the  men  with  them. 

"  The  lad  is  a  character,"  said  Mr.  Lowndes. 

We  made  our  way  down  into  the  garden,  which  they 
searched  last.  At  the  creek's  side  the  boat  was  gone,  and 
there  were  footsteps  in  the  mud. 

"  The  bird  has  flown,  Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Mathews. 

"  And  good  riddance  for  the  Committee,"  answered  that 
gentleman,  heartily.  "  He  got  to  the  fleet  in  fine  sea 
son  to  get  a  round  shot  in  the  middle.  David,"  said 
he,  solemnly,  "  remember  it  never  pays  to  try  to  be  two 
things  at  once." 

"  I'll  warrant  he  stayed  below  water,"  said  Mr.  Mathews. 
"  But  what  shall  we  do  with  the  lad  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  him  to  my  house  for  the  night,"  said  Mr. 
Lowndes,  "  and  in  the  morning  we'll  talk  to  him.  I 
reckon  he  should  be  sent  to  Temple  Bow.  He  is  connected 
in  some  way  with  the  Temples." 

"  God  help  him  if  he  goes  there,"  said  Mr.  Mathews, 
under  his  breath.  But  I  heard  him. 

They  locked  up  the  house,  and  left  one  of  the  men  to 
guard  it,  while  I  went  with  Mr.  Lowndes  to  his  residence. 
I  remember  that  people  were  gathered  in  the  streets  as  we 
passed,  making  merry,  and  that  they  greeted  Mr.  Lowndes 
with  respect  and  good  cheer.  His  house,  too,  was  set 
in  a  garden  and  quite  as  fine  as  Mr.  Temple's.  It  was 
ablaze  with  candles,  and  I  caught  glimpses  of  fine  gentle 
men  and  ladies  in  the  rooms.  But  he  hurried  me  through 
the  hall,  and  into  a  little  chamber  at  the  rear  where  a 
writing-desk  was  set.  He  turned  and  faced  me. 

"  You  must  be  tired,  David,"  he  said. 

I  nodded. 

"  And  hungry  ?     Boys  are  always  hungry." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  had  no  dinner  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  answered,  off  my  guard. 

"  Mercy  !  "  he  said.  "  It  is  a  long  time  since  breakfast." 

"  I  had  no  breakfast,  sir." 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  and  pulled  the  velvet  handle 
of  a  cord.  A  negro  came. 


30  THE  CKOSSING 

"  Is  the  supper  for  the  guests  ready  ?  " 

"Yes,  Marsa." 

"  Then  bring  as  much  as  you  can  carry  here,"  said  the 
gentleman.  "And  ask  Mrs.  Lowndes  if  I  may  speak 
with  her." 

Mrs.  Lowndes  came  first.  And  such  a  fine  lady  she 
was  that  she  frightened  me,  this  being  my  first  experience 
with  ladies.  But  when  Mr.  Lowndes  told  her  my  story, 
she  ran  to  me  impulsively  and  put  her  arms  about  me. 

"  Poor  lad  !  "  she  said.     "  What  a  shame  !  " 

I  think  that  the  tears  came  then,  but  it  was  small  won 
der.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  too. 

Such  a  supper  as  I  had  I  shall  never  forget.  And  she 
sat  beside  me  for  long,  neglecting  her  guests,  and  talking 
of  my  life.  Suddenly  she  turned  to  her  husband,  calling 
him  by  name. 

"He  is  Alec  Ritchie's  son,"  she  said,  "and  Alec  has 
gone  against  Cameron." 

Mr.  Lowndes  did  not  answer,  but  nodded. 

"And  must  he  go  to  Temple  Bow  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Lowndes,  "  I  fear  it  is  our  duty 
to  send  him  there." 


CHAPTER  IV 

TEMPLE   BOW 

IN  the  morning  I  started  for  Temple  Bow  on  horseback 
behind  one  of  Mr.  Lowndes'  negroes.  Good  Mrs. 
Lowndes  had  kissed  me  at  parting,  and  tucked  into  my 
pocket  a  parcel  of  sweetmeats.  There  had  been  a  few 
grave  gentlemen  to  see  me,  and  to  their  questions  I  had 
replied  what  I  could.  But  tell  them  of  Mr.  Temple  I 
would  not,  save  that  he  himself  had  told  me  nothing. 
And  Mr.  Lowndes  had  presently  put  an  end  to  their 
talk. 

"The  lad  knows  nothing,  gentlemen,"  he  had  said, 
which  was  true. 

"  David,"  said  he,  when  he  bade  me  farewell,  "  I  see 
that  your  father  has  brought  you  up  to  fear  God.  Re 
member  that  all  you  see  in  this  life  is  not  to  be  imitated." 

And  so  I  went  off  behind  his  negro.  He  was  a  merry 
lad,  and  despite  the  great  heat  of  the  journey  and  my 
misgivings  about  Temple  Bow,  he  made  me  laugh.  I  was 
sad  at  crossing  the  ferry  over  the  Ashley,  through  think 
ing  of  my  father,  but  I  reflected  that  it  could  not  be  long 
now  ere  I  saw  him  again.  In  the  middle  of  the  day  we 
stopped  at  a  tavern.  And  at  length,  in  the  abundant 
shade  of  evening,  we  came  to  a  pair  of  great  ornamental 
gates  set  between  brick  pillars  capped  with  white  balls, 
and  turned  into  a  drive.  And  presently,  winding  through 
the  trees,  we  were  in  sight  of  a  long,  brick  mansion 
trimmed  with  white,  and  a  velvet  lawn  before  it  all 
flecked  with  shadows.  In  front  of  the  portico  was  a  sad 
dled  horse,  craning  his  long  neck  at  two  panting  hounds 
stretched  on  the  ground.  A  negro  boy  in  blue  clutched 

31 


32  THE  CROSSING 

the  bridle.  On  the  horse-block  a  gentleman  in  white 
reclined.  He  wore  shiny  boots,  and  he  held  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  he  was  gazing  up  at  a  lady  who  stood  on  the 
steps  above  him. 

The  lady  I  remember  as  well  —  Lord  forbid  that  I 
should  forget  her.  And  her  laugh  as  I  heard  it  that 
evening  is  ringing  now  in  my  ears.  And  yet  it  was  not 
a  laugh.  Musical  it  was,  yet  there  seemed  no  pleasure 
in  it :  rather  irony,  and  a  great  weariness  of  the  amuse 
ments  of  this  world  :  and  a  note,  too,  from  a  vanity  never 
ruffled.  It  stopped  abruptly  as  the  negro  pulled  up  his 
horse  before  her,  and  she  stared  at  us  haughtily. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  she  said. 

"Pardon,  Mistis,"  said  the  negro,  "I'se  got  a  letter 
from  Marse  Lowndes." 

"  Mr.  Lowndes  should  instruct  his  niggers,"  she  said. 
"There  is  a  servants'  drive."  The  man  was  turning  his 
horse  when  she  cried  :  "Hold  !  Let's  have  it." 

He  dismounted  and  gave  her  the  letter,  and  I  jumped 
to  the  ground,  watching  her  as  she  broke  the  seal,  taking 
her  in,  as  a  boy  will,  from  the  flowing  skirt  and  tight- 
laced  stays  of  her  salmon  silk  to  her  high  and  powdered 
hair.  She  must  have  been  about  thirty.  Her  face  was 
beautiful,  but  had  no  particle  of  expression  in  it,  and  was 
dotted  here  and  there  with  little  black  patches  of  plaster. 
While  she  was  reading,  a  sober  gentleman  in  black  silk 
breeches  and  severe  coat  came  out  of  the  house  and  stood 
beside  her. 

"  Heigho,  parson,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  horse 
block,  without  moving,  "are  you  to  preach  against  loo  or 
lansquenet  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Would  it  make  any  difference  to  you,  Mr.  Riddle  ?  " 

Before  he  could  answer  there  came  a  great  clatter  behind 
them,  and  a  boy  of  my  own  age  appeared.  With  a  leap  he 
landed  sprawling  on  the  indolent  gentleman's  shoulders, 
nearly  upsetting  him. 

"  You  young  rascal  !  "  exclaimed  the  gentleman,  pitching 
him  on  the  drive  almost  at  my  feet;  then  he  fell  back  again 
to  a  position  where  he  could  look  up  at  the  lady. 


TEMPLE  BOW  33 

"  Harry  Riddle,"  cried  the  boy,  "  I'll  ride  steeplechases 
and  beat  you  some  day." 

"  Hush,  Nick,"  cried  the  lady,  petulantly,  "  I'll  have  no 
nerves  left  me."  She  turned  to  the  letter  again,  holding 
it  very  near  to  her  eyes,  and  made  a  wry  face  of  impa 
tience.  Then  she  held  the  sheet  out  to  Mr.  Riddle. 

"  A  pretty  piece  of  news,"  she  said  languidly.  "  Read 
it,  Harry." 

The  gentleman  seized  her  hand  instead.  The  lady 
glanced  at  the  clergyman,  whose  back  was  turned,  and 
shook  her  head. 

"  How  tiresome  you  are  !  "  she  said. 

"  What's  happened  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Riddle,  letting  go  as 
the  parson  looked  around. 

"  Oh,  they've  had  a  battle,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  Moul- 
trie  and  his  Rebels  have  beat  off  the  King's  fleet." 

"  The  devil  they  have  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Riddle,  while 
the  parson  started  forwards.  "Anything  more?" 

"Yes,  a  little."  She  hesitated.  "That  husband  of 
mine  has  fled  Charlestown.  They  think  he  went  to  the 
fleet."  And  she  shot  a  meaning  look  at  Mr.  Riddle,  who 
in  turn  flushed  red.  I  was  watching  them. 

"  What  !  "  cried  the  clergyman,  "  John  Temple  has  run 
away  ?  " 

"  Why  not,"  said  Mr.  Riddle.  "  One  can't  live  between 
wind  and  water  long.  And  Charlestown's  —  uncomfort 
able  in  summer." 

At  that  the  clergyman  cast  one  look  at  them  —  such  a 
look  as  I  shall  never  forget  —  and  went  into  the  house. 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  boy,  "  where  has  father  gone  ?  Has 
he  run  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Don't  bother  me,  Nick." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  cried  Nick,  his  high  voice  shaking. 
« I'd  —  I'd  disown  him." 

At  that  Mr.  Riddle  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Come,  Nick,"  said  he,  "  it  isn't  so  bad  as  that.  Your 
father's  for  his  Majesty,  like  the  rest  of  us.  He's  merely 
gone  over  to  fight  for  him."  And  he  looked  at  the  lady 
and  laughed  again.  But  I  liked  the  boy. 


34  THE  CROSSING 

As  for  the  lady,  she  curled  her  lip.  "  Mr.  Riddle,  don't 
be  foolish,"  she  said.  "  If  we  are  to  play,  send  your  horse 
to  the  stables."  Suddenly  her  eye  lighted  on  me.  "  One 
more  brat,"  she  sighed.  "  Nick,  take  him  to  the  nursery, 
or  the  stable.  And  both  of  you  keep  out  of  my  sight." 

Nick  strode  up  to  me. 

"  Don't  mind  her.  She's  always  saying,  '  Keep  out  of 
my  sight.' '  His  voice  trembled.  He  took  me  by  the 
sleeve  and  began  pulling  me  around  the  house  and  into  a 
little  summer  bower  that  stood  there  ;  for  he  had  a  mas 
terful  manner. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  David  Trimble,"  I  said. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  father  in  town  ?  " 

The  intense  earnestness  of  the  question  surprised  an 
answer  out  of  me. 

"Yes." 

"  Where  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  In  his  house.     My  father  left  me  with  your  father." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

I  related  as  much  as  I  dared,  leaving  out  Mr.  Temple's 
double  dealing  ;  which,  in  truth,  I  did  not  understand. 
But  the  boy  was  relentless. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  my  father  was  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Lowndes  and  Mr.  Mathews.  I  have  seen  them  here  drink 
ing  with  him.  And  in  town.  And  he  ran  away?" 

"  I  do  not  know  where  he  went,"  said  I,  which  was  the 
truth. 

He  said  nothing,  but  hid  his  face  in  his  arms  over  the 
rail  of  the  bower.  At  length  he  looked  up  at  me  fiercely. 

"  If  you  ever  tell  this,  I  will  kill  you,"  he  cried.  "  Do 
you  hear  ?  " 

That  made  me  angry. 

"Yes,  I  hear,"  I  said.     "But  I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 

He  was  at  me  in  an  instant,  knocking  me  to  the  floor, 
so  that  the  breath  went  out  of  me,  and  was  pounding  me 
vigorously  ere  I  recovered  from  the  shock  and  astonish 
ment  of  it  and  began  to  defend  myself.  He  was  taller 
than  I,  and  wiry,  but  not  so  rugged.  Yet  there  was  a 


TEMPLE  BOW  35 

look  about  him  that  was  far  beyond  his  strength.  A  look 
that  meant,  never  say  die.  Curiously,  even  as  I  fought 
desperately  I  compared  him  with  that  other  lad  I  had 
known,  Andy  Jackson.  And  this  one,  though  not  so 
powerful,  frightened  me  the  more  in  his  relentlessness. 

Perhaps  we  should  have  been  fighting  still  had  not  some 
one  pulled  us  apart,  and  when  my  vision  cleared  I  saw 
Nick,  struggling  and  kicking,  held  tightly  in  the  hands  of 
the  clergyman.  And  it  was  all  that  gentleman  could  do 
to  hold  him.  I  am  sure  it  was  quite  five  minutes  before  he 
forced  the  lad,  exhausted,  on  to  the  seat.  And  then  there 
was  a  defiance  about  his  nostrils  that  showed  he  was  unde 
feated.  The  clergyman,  still  holding  him  with  one  hand, 
took  out  his  handkerchief  with  the  other  and  wiped  his  brow. 

I  expected  a  scolding  and  a  sermon.  To  my  amazement 
the  clergyman  said  quietly  :  — 

"  Now  what  was  the  trouble,  David  ?  " 

"  I'll  not  be  the  one  to  tell  it,  sir,"  I  said,  and  trembled 
at  my  temerity. 

The  parson  looked  at  me  queerly. 

"  Then  you  are  in  the  right  of  it,"  he  said.  "  It  is  as 
I  thought;  I'll  not  expect  Nicholas  to  tell  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Nicholas.  "  He  was  in  the 
house  with  my  father  when — when  he  ran  away.  And  I 
said  that  if  he  ever  spoke  of  it  to  any  one,  I  would  kill  him." 

For  a  while  the  clergyman  was  silent,  gazing  with  a 
strange  tenderness  at  the  lad,  whose  face  was  averted. 

"  And  you,  David  ?  "  he  said  presently. 

"I — I  never  mean  to  tell,  sir.  But  I  was  not  to  be 
frightened." 

"  Quite  right,  my  lad,"  said  the  clergyman,  so  kindly 
that  it  sent  a  strange  thrill  through  me.  Nicholas  looked 
up  quickly. 

"  You  won't  tell  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  You  can  let  me  go  now,  Mr.  Mason,"  said  he.  Mr. 
Mason  did.  And  he  came  over  and  sat  beside  me,  but 
said  nothing  more. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Mason  cleared  his  throat. 


36  THE  CROSSING 

"Nicholas,"  said  he,  "when  you  grow  older  you  will 
understand  these  matters  better.  Your  father  went  away 
to  join  the  side  he  believes  in,  the  side  we  all  believe  in  — 
the  King's  side." 

"  Did  he  ever  pretend  to  like  the  other  side  ? "  asked 
Nick,  quickly. 

"  When  you  grow  older  you  will  know  his  motives," 
answered  the  clergyman,  gently.  "  Until  then,  you  must 
trust  him." 

"  You  never  pretended,"  cried  Nick. 

"Thank  God  I  never  was  forced  to  do  so,"  said  the 
clergyman,  fervently. 

It  is  wonderful  that  the  conditions  of  our  existence  may 
wholly  change  without  a  seeming  strangeness.  After 
many  years  only  vivid  snatches  of  what  I  saw  and  heard 
and  did  at  Temple  Bow  come  back  to  me.  I  understood 
but  little  the  meaning  of  the  seigniorial  life  there.  My 
chief  wonder  now  is  that  its  golden  surface  was  not  more 
troubled  by  the  winds  then  brewing.  It  was  a  new  life  to 
me,  one  that  I  had  not  dreamed  of. 

After  that  first  falling  out,  Nick  and  I  became  insepa 
rable.  Far  slower  than  he  in  my  likes  and  dislikes,  he 
soon  became  a  passion  with  me.  Even  as  a  boy,  he  did 
everything  with  a  grace  unsurpassed  ;  the  dash  and  daring 
of  his  pranks  took  one's  breath ;  his  generosity  to  those  he 
loved  was  prodigal.  Nor  did  he  ever  miss  a  chance  to  score 
those  under  his  displeasure.  At  times  he  was  reckless 
beyond  words  to  describe,  and  again  he  would  fall  sober 
for  a  day.  He  could  be  cruel  and  tender  in  the  same 
honr  ;  abandoned  and  freezing  in  his  dignity.  He  had 
an  old  negro  mammy  whose  worship  for  him  and  his  pos 
sessions  was  idolatry.  I  can  hear  her  now  calling  and 
calling,  "  Marse  Nick,  honey,  yo'  supper's  done  got 
cole,"  as  she  searched  patiently  among  the  magnolias. 
And  suddenly  there  would  be  a  shout,  and  Mammy's  tur 
ban  go  flying  from  her  woolly  head,  or  Mammy  herself 
would  be  dragged  down  from  behind  and  sat  upon. 

We  had  our  supper,  Nick  and  I,  at  twilight,  in  the 
children's  dining  room.  A  little  white  room,  unevenly 


TEMPLE   BOW  37 

panelled,  the  silver  candlesticks  and  yellow  flames  fantas 
tically  reflected  in  the  mirrors  between  the  deep  windows, 
and  the  moths  and  June-bugs  tilting  at  the  lights.  We 
sat  at  a  little  mahogany  table  eating  porridge  and  cream 
from  round  blue  bowls,  with  Mammy  to  wait  on  us. 
Sometimes  there  floated  in  upon  us  the  hum  of  revelry 
from  the  great  drawing-room  wher^  Madame  had  her 
company.  Often  the  good  Mr.  Mason  would  come  in 
to  us  (he  cared  little  for  the  parties),  and  talk  to  us  of 
our  day's  doings.  Nick  had  his  lessons  from  the  clergy 
man  in  the  winter  time. 

Mr.  Mason  took  occasion  once  to  question  me  on  what 
I  knew.  Some  of  my  answers,  in  especial  those  relating 
to  my  knowledge  of  the  Bible,  surprised  him.  Others 
made  him  sad. 

"  David,"  said  he,  "  you  are  an  earnest  lad,  with  a  head 
to  learn,  and  you  will.  When  your  father  comes,  I  shall 
talk  with  him."  He  paused  —  "  I  knew  him,"  said  he,  "I 
knew  him  ere  you  were  born.  A  just  man,  and  upright, 
but  with  a  great  sorrow.  We  must  never  be  hasty  in  our 
judgments.  But  you  will  never  be  hasty,  David,"  he 
added,  smiling  at  me.  "  You  are  a  good  companion  for 
Nicholas." 

Nicholas  and  I  slept  in  the  same  bedroom^  at  a  corner  of 
the  long  house,  and  far  removed  from  his  mother.  She 
would  not  be  disturbed  by  the  noise  he  made  in  the  morn 
ings.  I  remember  that  he  had  cut  in  the  solid  shutters  of 
that  room,  folded  into  the  embrasures,  "  Nicholas  Temple, 
His  Mark,"  and  a  long,  flat  sword.  The  first  night  in  that 
room  we  slept  but  little,  near  the  whole  of  it  being  occu 
pied  with  tales  of  my  adventures  and  of  my  life  in  the 
mountains.  Over  and  over  again  I  must  tell  him  of  the 
"  painters  "  and  wildcats,  of  deer  and  bear  and  wolf.  Nor 
was  he  ever  satisfied.  And  at  length  I  came  to  speak  of 
that  land  where  I  had  often  lived  in  fancy  —  the  land 
beyond  the  mountains  of  which  Daniel  Boone  had  told. 
Of  its  forest  and  glade,  its  countless  herds  of  elk  and 
buffalo,  its  salt-licks  and  Indians,  until  we  fell  asleep  from 
sheer  exhaustion. 


38  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  will  go  there,"  he  cried  in  the  morning,  as  he  hurried 
into  his  clothes ;  "  I  will  go  to  that  land  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Nick  Temple.  And  you  shall  go  with  me, 
David." 

"  Perchance  I  shall  go  before  you,"  I  answered,  though 
I  had  small  hopes  of  persuading  my  father. 

He  would  often  make  his  exit  by  the  window,  climbing 
down  into  the  garden  by  the  protruding  bricks  at  the 
corner  of  the  house ;  or  sometimes  go  shouting  down  the 
long  halls  and  through  the  gallery  to  the  great  stairway, 
a  smothered  oath  from  behind  the  closed  bedroom  doors 
proclaiming  that  he  had  waked  a  guest.  And  many  days 
we  spent  in  the  wood,  playing  at  hunting  game  —  a  poor 
enough  amusement  for  me,  and  one  that  Nick  soon  tired 
of.  They  were  thick,  wet  woods,  unlike  our  woods  of  the 
mountains  ;  and  more  than  once  we  had  excitement 
enough  with  the  snakes  that  lay  there. 

I  believe  that  in  a  week's  time  Nick  was  as  conversant 
with  my  life  as  I  myself.  For  he  made  me  tell  of  it  again 
and  again,  and  of  Kentucky.  And  always  as  he  listened 
his  eyes  would  glow  and  his  breast  heave  with  excite 
ment. 

"  Do  you  think  your  father  will  take  you  there,  David, 
when  he  comes  for  you  ?  " 

I  hoped  so,  but  was  doubtful. 

"  I'll  run  away  with  you,"  he  declared.  "  There  is  no 
one  here  who  cares  for  me  save  Mr.  Mason  and  Mammy." 

And  I  believe  he  meant  it.  He  saw  but  little  of  his 
mother,  and  nearly  always  something  unpleasant  was 
coupled  with  his  views.  Sometimes  we  ran  across  her  in 
the  garden  paths  walking  with  a  gallant,  —  of tenest  Mr. 
Riddle.  It  was  a  beautiful  garden,  with  hedge-bordered 
walks  and  flowers  wondrously  massed  in  color,  a  high 
brick  wall  surrounding  it.  Frequently  Mrs.  Temple  and 
Mr.  Riddle  would  play  at  cards  there  of  an  afternoon,  and 
when  that  musical,  unbelieving  laugh  of  hers  came  float 
ing  over  the  wall,  Nick  would  say  :  — 

"Mamma  is  winning." 

Once  we  heard  high  words  between  the  two,  and  run- 


TEMPLE  BOW  39 

ning  into  the  garden  found  the  cards  scattered  on  the 
grass,  and  the  couple  gone. 

Of  all  Nick's  escapades,  —  and  he  was  continually  in 
and  out  of  them,  —  I  recall  only  a  few  of  the  more  serious. 
As  I  have  said,  he  was  a  wild  lad,  sobered  by  none  of  the 
things  which  had  gone  to  make  my  life,  and  what  he  took 
into  his  head  to  do  he  generally  did,  —  or,  if  balked,  flew 
into  such  a  rage  as  to  make  one  believe  he  could  not  live. 
Life  was  always  war  with  him,  or  some  semblance  of  a 
struggle.  Of  his  many  wild  doings  I  recall  well  the 
time  when  —  fired  by  my  tales  of  hunting  —  he  went  out 
to  attack  the  young  bull  in  the  paddock  with  a  bow  and 
arrow.  It  made  small  difference  to  the  bull  that  the  arrow 
was  too  blunt  to  enter  his  hide.  With  a  bellow  that 
frightened  the  idle  negroes  at  the  slave  quarters,  he  started 
for  Master  Nick.  I,  who  had  been  taught  by  my  father 
never  to  run  any  unnecessary  risk,  had  taken  the  precau 
tion  to  provide  as  large  a  stone  as  I  could  comfortably 
throw,  and  took  station  on  the  fence.  As  the  furious 
animal  came  charging,  with  his  head  lowered,  I  struck  him 
by  a  good  fortune  between  the  eyes,  and  Nicholas  got  over. 
We  were  standing  on  the  far  side,  watching  him  pawing 
the  broken  bow,  when,  in  the  crowd  of  frightened  negroes, 
we  discovered  the  parson  beside  us. 

"  David,"  said  he,  patting  me  with  a  shaking  hand,  "  I 
perceive  that  you  have  a  cool  head.  Our  young  friend 
here  has  a  hot  one.  Dr.  Johnson  may  not  care  for 
Scotch  blood,  and  yet  I  think  a  wee  bit  of  it  is  not  to  be 
despised." 

I  wondered  whether  Dr.  Johnson  was  staying  in  the 
house,  too. 

How  many  slaves  there  were  at  Temple  Bow  I  know 
not,  but  we  used  to  see  them  coming  home  at  night  in 
droves,  the  overseers  riding  beside  them  with  whips  and 
guns.  One  day  a  huge  Congo  chief,  not  long  from  Africa, 
nearly  killed  an  overseer,  and  escaped  to  the  swamp.  As 
the  day  fell,  we  heard  the  baying  of  the  bloodhounds  hot 
upon  his  trail.  More  ominous  still,  a  sound  like  a  rising 
wind  came  from  the  direction  of  the  quarters.  Into  our 


40  THE  CROSSING 

little  dining-room  burst  Mrs.  Temple  herself,  slamming  the 
door  behind  her.  Mr.  Mason,  who  was  sitting  with  us, 
rose  to  calm  her. 

"  The  Rebels !  "  she  cried.  "  The  Rebels  have  taught 
them  this,  with  their  accursed  notions  of  liberty  and 
equality.  We  shall  all  be  murdered  by  the  blacks  because 
of  the  Rebels.  Oh,  hell-fire  is  too  good  for  them.  Have 
the  house  barred  and  a  watch  set  to-night.  What  shall  we 
do?" 

"  I  pray  you  compose  yourself,  Madame,"  said  the 
clergyman.  "We  can  send  for  the  militia." 

"  The  militia  !"  she  shrieked  ;  "the  Rebel  militia  !  They 
would  murder  us  as  soon  as  the  niggers." 

"  They  are  respectable  men,"  answered  Mr.  Mason,  "  and 
were  at  Fanning  Hall  to-day  patrolling." 

"  I  would  rather  be  killed  by  whites  than  blacks,"  said 
the  lady.  "  But  who  is  to  go  for  the  militia  ?  " 

"  I  will  ride  for  them,"  said  Mr.  Mason.  It  was  a  dark, 
lowering  night,  and  spitting  rain. 

"  And  leave  rne  defenceless  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  do  not 
stir,  sir." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Mr.  Mason  —  he  was  goaded  to  it,  I 
suppose  —  "  'tis  a  pity  Mr.  Riddle  did  not  come  to-night." 

She  shot  at  him  a  withering  look,  for  even  in  her  fear 
she  would  brook  110  liberties.  Nick  spoke  up  :  — 

" I  will  go,"  said  he ;  "I  can  get  through  the  woods  to 
Fanning  Hall  —  " 

"  And  I  will  go  with  him,"  I  said. 

"  Let  the  brats  go,"  she  said,  and  cut  short  Mr.  Mason's 
expostulations.  She  drew  Nick  to  her  and  kissed  him. 
He  wriggled  away,  and  without  more  ado  we  climbed  out 
of  the  dining-room  windows  into  the  night.  Running 
across  the  lawn,  we  left  the  lights  of  the  great  house 
twinkling  behind  us  in  the  rain.  We  had  to  pass  the 
long  line  of  cabins  at  the  quarters.  Three  overseers  with 
lanterns  stood  guard  there;  the  cabins  were  dark,  the 
wretches  within  silent  and  cowed.  Thence  we  felt  with 
our  feet  for  the  path  across  the  fields,  stumbled  over  a  sty, 
and  took  our  way  through  the  black  woods.  I  was  at 


TEMPLE  BOW  41 

home  here,  and  Nick  was  not  to  be  frightened.  At  inter 
vals  the  mournful  bay  of  a  bloodhound  came  to  us  from  a 
distance. 

"  Suppose  we  should  meet  the  Congo  chief,"  said  Nick, 
suddenly. 

The  idea  had  occurred  to  me. 

"  She  needn't  have  been  so  frightened,"  said  he,  in 
scornful  remembrance  of  his  mother's  actions. 

We  pressed  on.  Nick  knew  the  path  as  only  a  boy  can. 
Half  an  hour  passed.  It  grew  brighter.  The  rain  ceased, 
and  a  new  moon  shot  out  between  the  leaves.  I  seized 
his  arm. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  I  whispered. 

"A  deer." 

But  I,  cradled  in  woodcraft,  had  heard  plainly  a  man 
creeping  through  the  underbrush  beside  us.  Fear  of  the 
Congo  chief  and  pity  for  the  wretch  tore  at  my  heart. 
Suddenly  there  loomed  in  front  of  us,  on  the  path,  a  great, 
naked  man.  We  stood  with  useless  limbs,  staring  at  him. 

Then,  from  the  trees  over  our  heads,  came  a  chittering 
and  a  chattering  such  as  I  had  never  heard.  The  big 
man  before  us  dropped  to  the  earth,  his  head  bowed,  mut 
tering.  As  for  me,  my  fright  increased.  The  chattering 
stopped,  and  Nick  stepped  forward  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  negro's  bare  shoulder. 

"  We  needn't  be  afraid  of  him  now,  Davy,"  he  said.  "  I 
learned  that  trick  from  a  Portuguese  overseer  we  had  last 
year." 

"  You  did  it !  "  I  exclaimed,  my  astonishment  overcom 
ing  my  fear. 

"  It's  the  way  the  monkeys  chatter  in  the  Canaries,"  he 
said.  "  Manuel  had  a  tame  one,  and  I  heard  it  talk.  Once 
before  I  tried  it  on  the  chief,  and  he  fell  down.  He  thinks 
I'm  a  god." 

It  must  have  been  a  weird  scene  to  see  the  great  negro 
following  two  boys  in  the  moonlight.  Indeed,  he  came 
after  us  like  a  dog.  At  length  we  were  in  sight  of  the 
lights  of  Fanning  Hall.  The  militia  was  there.  We  were 
challenged  by  the  guard,  and  caused  sufficient  amazement 


42  THE  CROSSING 

when  we  appeared  in  the  hall  before  the  master,  who  was 
a  bachelor  of  fifty. 

"  'Sblood,  Nick  Temple !  "  he  cried,  "  what  are  you  do 
ing  here  with  that  big  Congo  for  a  dog?  The  sight  of 
him  frightens  me." 

The  negro,  indeed,  was  a  sight  to  frighten  one.  The 
black  mud  of  the  swamps  was  caked  on  him,  and  his  flesh 
was  torn  by  brambles. 

"  He  ran  away,"  said  Nick ;  "  and  I  am  taking  him 
home." 

"You — you  are  taking  him  home!"  sputtered  Mr. 
Fanning-. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  him  act  ?  "  said  Nick.  And  with 
out  waiting  for  a  reply  he  filled  the  hall  with  a  dozen 
monkeys.  Mr.  Fanning  leaped  back  into  a  doorway,  but 
the  chief  prostrated  himself  on  the  floor.  "  Now  do  you 
believe  I  can  take  him  home?  "  said  Nick. 

"  'Swounds ! "  said  Mr.  Fanning,  when  he  had  his 
breath.  "You  beat  the  devil,  Nicholas  Temple.  The 
next  time  you  come  to  call  I  pray  you  leave  your  travel 
ling  show  at  home." 

"Mamma  sent  me  for  the  militia,"  said  Nick. 

"  She  did  !  "  said  Mr.  Fanning,  looking  grim.  "  An  in 
surrection  is  a  bad  thing,  but  there  was  no  danger  for  two 
lads  in  the  woods,  I  suppose." 

"  There's  no  danger  anyway,"  said  Nick.  "  The  niggers 
are  all  scared  to  death." 

Mr.  Fanning  burst  out  into  a  loud  laugh,  stopped  sud 
denly,  sat  down,  and  took  Nick  on  his  knee.  It  was  an 
incongruous  scene.  Mr.  Fanning  almost  cried. 

"  Bless  your  soul,"  he  said,  "  but  you  are  a  lad.  Would 
to  God  I  had  you  instead  of  —  " 

He  paused  abruptly. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Nick  ;   "  she  will  be  worried." 

"  She  will  be  worried  !  "  cried  Mr.  Fanning,  in  a  burst 
of  anger.  Then  he  said :  "  You  shall  have  the  militia. 
You  shall  have  the  militia."  He  rang  a  bell  and  sent  his 
steward  for  the  captain,  a  gawky  country  farmer,  who 
gave  a  gasp  when  he  came  upon  the  scene  in  the  hall. 


TEMPLE   BOW  43 

"And  mind,"  said  Nick  to  the  captain,  "you  are  to 
keep  your  men  away  from  him,  or  he  will  kill  one  of  them." 

The  captain  grinned  at  him  curiously. 

"  I  reckon  I  won't  have  to  tell  them  to  keep  away," 
said  he. 

Mr.  Fanning  started  us  off  for  the  walk  with  pockets 
filled  with  sweetmeats,  which  we  nibbled  on  the  way  back. 
We  made  a  queer  procession,  Nick  and  I  striding  ahead 
to  show  the  path,  followed  by  the  now  servile  chief,  and 
after  him  the  captain  and  his  twenty  men  in  single  file. 
It  was  midnight  when  we  saw  the  lights  of  Temple  Bow 
through  the  trees.  One  of  the  tired  overseers  met  us  near 
the  kitchen.  When  he  perceived  the  Congo  his  face  lighted 
up  with  rage,  and  he  instinctively  reached  for  his  whip. 
But  the  chief  stood  before  him,  immovable,  with  arms 
folded,  and  a  look  on  his  face  that  meant  danger. 

"  He  will  kill  you,  Emory,"  said  Nick  ;  "  he  will  kill  you 
if  you  touch  him." 

Emory  dropped  his  hand,  limply. 

"  He  will  go  to  work  in  the  morning,"  said  Nick  ;  "  but 
mind  you,  not  a  lash." 

"  Very  good,  Master  Nick,"  said  the  man ;  "  but  who's 
to  get  him  in  his  cabin  ?  " 

"I  will,"  said  Nick.  He  beckoned  to  the  Congo,  who 
followed  him  over  to  quarters  and  went  in  at  his  door 
without  a  protest. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Temple  looked  out  of  her  win 
dow  and  saw  the  militiamen  on  the  lawn. 

"  Pooh !  "  she  said,  "  are  those  butternuts  the  soldiers 
that  Nick  went  to  fetch  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V 
CEAM'S  HELL 

AFTER  that  my  admiration  for  Nick  Temple  increased 
greatly,  whether  excited  by  his  courage  and  presence 
of  mind,  or  his  ability  to  imitate  men  and  women  and 
creatures,  I  know  not.  One  of  our  amusements,  I  recall, 
was  to  go  to  the  Congo's  cabin  to  see  him  fall  on  his  face, 
until  Mr.  Mason  put  a  stop  to  it.  The  clergyman  let  us 
know  that  we  were  encouraging  idolatry,  and  he  himself 
took  the  chief  in  hand. 

Another  incident  comes  to  me  from  those  bygone  days. 
The  fear  of  negro  insurrections  at  the  neighboring  plan 
tations  being  temporarily  lulled,  the  gentry  began  to 
pluck  up  courage  for  their  usual  amusements.  There 
were  to  be  races  at  some  place  a  distance  away,  and  Nick 
was  determined  to  go.  Had  he  not  determined  that 
I  should  go,  all  would  have  been  well.  The  evening 
before  he  came  upon  his  mother  in  the  garden.  Strange 
to  say,  she  was  in  a  gracious  mood  and  alone. 

"  Come  and  kiss  me,  Nick,"  she  said.  "  Now,  what  do 
you  want  ? " 

"  I  want  to  go  to  the  races,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  your  pony.     You  can  follow  the  coach." 

"  David  is  to  ride  the  pony,"  said  Nick,  generously. 
"  May  I  go  in  the  coach  ?  " 

"No,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  room  for  you." 

Nicholas  flared  up.  "  Harry  Riddle  is  going  in  the 
coach.  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  take  me  sometimes. 
You  like  him  better  than  me." 

The  lady  flushed  very  red. 

44 


CRAM'S  HELL  45 

"  How  dare  you,  Nick  !  "  she  cried  angrily.  "  What  has 
Mr.  Mason  been  putting  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Nick,  quite  as  angrily.  "  Any  one  can 
see  that  you  like  Harry.  And  I  will  ride  in  the  coach." 

"  You'll  not,"  said  his  mother. 

I  had  heard  nothing  of  this.  The  next  morning  he 
led  out  his  pony  from  the  stables  for  me  to  ride,  and 
insisted.  And,  supposing  he  was  to  go  in  the  coach,  I 
put  foot  in  the  stirrup.  The  little  beast  would  scarce 
stand  still  for  me  to  mount. 

"  You'll  not  need  the  whip  with  her,"  said  Nick,  and  led 
her  around  by  the  side  of  the  house,  in  view  of  the  portico, 
and  stood  there  at  her  bridle.  Presently,  with  a  great 
noise  and  clatter  of  hoofs,  the  coach  rounded  the  drive, 
the  powdered  negro  coachman  pulling  up  the  four  horses 
with  much  ceremony  at  the  door.  It  was  a  wondrous 
great  vehicle,  the  bright  colors  of  its  body  flashing  in  the 
morning  light.  I  had  examined  it  more  than  once,  and 
with  awe,  in  the  coach-house.  It  had  glass  windows  and 
a  lion  on  a  blue  shield  on  the  door,  and  within  it  was  all 
salmon  silk,  save  the  painted  design  on  the  ceiling.  Great 
leather  straps  held  up  this  house  on  wheels,  to  take  the 
jolts  of  the  road.  And  behind  it  was  a  platform.  That 
morning  two  young  negroes  with  flowing  blue  coats 
stood  on  it.  They  leaped  to  the  ground  when  the  coach 
stopped,  and  stood  each  side  of  the  door,  waiting  for  my 
lady  to  enter. 

She  came  down  the  steps,  laughing,  with  Mr.  Riddle, 
who  was  in  his  riding  clothes,  for  he  was  to  race  that  day. 
He  handed  her  in,  and  got  in  after  her.  The  coachman 
cracked  his  whip,  the  coach  creaked  off  down  the  drive,  I 
in  the  trees  one  side  waiting  for  them  to  pass,  and  won 
dering  what  Nick  was  to  do.  He  had  let  go  my  bridle, 
folded  his  whip  in  his  hand,  and  with  a  shout  of  "  Come 
on,  Davy,"  he  ran  for  the  coach,  which  was  going  slowly, 
caiight  hold  of  the  footman's  platform,  and  pulled  him 
self  up. 

What  possessed  the  footman  I  know  not.  Perchance 
fear  of  his  mistress  was  greater  than  fear  of  his  young 


46  THE   CROSSING 

master  ;  but  he  took  the  lad  by  the  shoulders  —  gently,  to 
be  sure  —  and  pushed  him  into  the  road,  where  he  fell  and 
rolled  over.  I  guessed  what  would  happen.  Picking  him 
self  up,  Nick  was  at  the  man  like  a  hurricane,  seizing  him 
swiftly  by  the  leg.  The  negro  fell  upon  the  platform, 
clutching  wildly,  where  he  lay  in  a  sheer  fright,  shrieking 
for  mercy,  his  cries  rivalled  by  those  of  the  lady  within. 
The  coachman  frantically  pulled  his  horses  to  a  stand,  the 
other  footman  jumped  off,  and  Mr.  Harry  Riddle  came 
flying  out  of  the  coach  door,  to  behold  Nicholas  beating 
the  negro  with  his  riding- whip. 

"  You  young  devil,"  cried  Mr.  Riddle,  angrily,  striding 
forward,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Keep  off,  Harry,"  said  Nicholas.  "  I  am  teaching  this 
nigger  that  he  is  not  to  lay  hands  on  his  betters."  With 
that  he  gave  the  boy  one  more  cut,  and  turned  from  him 
contemptuously. 

"  What  is  it,  Harry  ? "  came  in  a  shrill  voice  from 
within  the  coach. 

"  It's  Nick's  pranks,"  said  Mr.  Riddle,  grinning  in  spite 
of  his  anger  ;  "  he's  ruined  one  of  your  footmen.  You 
little  scoundrel,"  cried  Mr.  Riddle,  advancing  again, 
"you've  frightened  your  mother  nearly  to  a  swoon." 

"  Serves  her  right,"  said  Nick. 

"  What  !  "  cried  Mr.  Riddle.  "  Come  down  from  there 
instantly." 

Nick  raised  his  whip.  It  was  not  that  that  stopped 
Mr.  Riddle,  but  a  sign  about  the  lad's  nostrils. 

"Harry  Riddle,"  said  the  boy,  "if  it  weren't  for  you, 
I'd  be  riding  in  this  coach  to-day  with  my  mother.  I 
don't  want  to  ride  with  her,  but  I  will  go  to  the  races. 
If  you  try  to  take  me  down,  I'll  do  my  best  to  kill  you," 
and  he  lifted  the  loaded  end  of  the  whip. 

Mrs.  Temple's  beautiful  face  had  by  this  time  been 
thrust  out  of  the  door. 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven,  Harry,  let  him  come  in  with 
us.  We're  late  enough  as  it  is." 

Mr.  Riddle  turned  on  his  heel.  He  tried  to  glare  at 
Nick,  but  he  broke  into  a  laugh  instead. 


CRAM'S  HELL  47 

"  Come  down,  Satan,"  says  he.  "  God  help  the  woman 
you  love  and  the  man  you  fight." 

And  so  Nicholas  jumped  down,  and  into  the  coach. 
The  footman  picked  himself  up,  more  scared  than  injured, 
and  the  vehicle  took  its  lumbering  way  for  the  race 
course,  I  following. 

I  have  seen  many  courses  since,  but  none  to  equal  that 
in  the  gorgeous  dress  of  those  who  watched.  There  had 
been  many,  many  more  in  former  years,  so  I  heard  people 
say.  This  was  the  only  sign  that  a  war  was  in  progress, — 
the  scanty  number  of  gentry  present,  —  for  all  save  the  in 
different  were  gone  to  Charlestown  or  elsewhere.  I  recall 
it  dimly,  as  a  blaze  of  color  passing  :  merrymaking,  jest 
ing,  feasting,  —  a  rare  contrast,  I  thought,  to  the  sight  I 
had  beheld  in  Charlestown  Bay  but  a  while  before.  Yet 
so  runs  the  world,  —  strife  at  one  man's  home,  and  peace 
and  contentment  at  his  neighbor's  ;  sorrow  here,  and  re 
joicing  not  a  league  away. 

Master  Nicholas  played  one  prank  that  evening  that 
was  near  to  costing  dear.  My  lady  Temple  made  up  a 
party  for  Temple  Bow  at  the  course,  two  other  coaches  to 
come  and  some  gentlemen  riding.  As  Nick  and  I  were 
running  through  the  paddock  we  came  suddenly  upon 
Mr.  Harry  Riddle  and  a  stout,  swarthy  gentleman  stand 
ing  together.  The  stout  gentleman  was  counting  out  big 
gold  pieces  in  his  hand  and  giving  them  to  Mr.  Riddle. 

"  Lucky  dog  !  "  said  the  stout  gentleman  ;  "  you'll  ride 
back  with  her,  and  you've  won  all  I've  got."  And  he  dug 
Mr.  Riddle  in  the  ribs. 

"  You'll  have  it  again  when  we  play  to-night,  Darnley," 
answered  Mr.  Riddle,  crossly.  "  And  as  for  the  seat  in 
the  coach,  you  are  welcome  to  it.  That  firebrand  of  a  lad 
is  on  the  front  seat." 

"D — n  the  lad,"  said  the  stout  gentleman.  "I'll  take 
it,  and  you  can  ride  my  horse.  He'll  —  he'll  carry  you, 
I  reckon."  His  voice  had  a  way  of  cracking  into  a  mel 
low  laugh. 

At  that  Mr.  Riddle  went  off  in  a  towering  bad  humor, 
and  afterwards  I  heard  him  cursing  the  stout  gentleman's 


48  THE  CROSSING 

black  groom  as  lie  mounted  his  great  horse.  And  then 
he  cursed  the  horse  as  it  reared  and  plunged,  while  the 
stout  gentleman  stood  at  the  coach  door,  cackling  at  his 
discomfiture.  The  gentleman  did  ride  home  with  Mrs. 
Temple,  Nick  going  into  another  coach.  I  afterwards 
discovered  that  the  gentleman  had  bribed  him  with  a 
guinea.  And  Mr.  Riddle  more  than  once  came  near  run 
ning  down  my  pony  on  his  big  charger,  and  lie  swore  at 
me  roundly,  too. 

That  night  there  was  a  gay  supper  party  in  the  big 
dining  room  at  Temple  Bow.  Nick  and  I  looked  on  from 
the  gallery  window.  It  was  a  pretty  sight.  The  long 
mahogany  board  reflecting  the  yellow  flames  of  the  can 
dles,  and  spread  with  bright  silver  and  shining  dishes 
loaded  with  dainties,  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  brill 
iant  dress,  the  hurrying  servants,  —  all  were  of  a  new  and 
strange  world  to  me.  And  presently,  after  the  ladies  were 
gone,  the  gentlemen  tossed  off  their  wine  and  roared  over 
their  jokes,  and  followed  into  the  drawing-room.  This  I 
noticed,  that  only  Mr.  Harry  Riddle  sat  silent  and  morose, 
and  that  he  had  drunk  more  than  the  others. 

"  Come,  Davy,"  said  Nick  to  me,  "  let's  go  and  watch 
them  again." 

"  But  how  ?  "  I  asked,  for  the  drawing-room  windows 
were  up  some  distance  from  the  ground,  and  there  was  no 
gallery  on  that  side. 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  he,  running  into  the  garden. 
After  searching  awhile  in  the  dark,  he  found  a  ladder 
the  gardener  har1  left  against  a  tree  ;  after  much  straining, 
we  carried  the  ladder  to  the  house  and  set  it  up  under  one 
of  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room.  Then  we  both 
clambered  cautiously  to  the  top  and  looked  in. 

The  company  were  at  cards,  silent,  save  for  a  low 
remark  now  and  again.  The  little  tables  were  ranged 
along  by  the  windows,  and  it  chanced  that  Mr.  Harry 
Riddle  sat  so  close  to  us  that  we  could  touch  him.  On 
his  right  sat  Mr.  Darnley,  the  stout  gentleman,  and  in 
the  other  seats  two  ladies.  Between  Mr.  Riddle  and  Mr. 
Darnley  was  a  pile  of  silver  and  gold  pieces.  There  was 


CRAM'S   HELL  49 

not  room  for  two  of  us  in  comfort  at  the  top  of  the  ladder, 
so  I  gave  place  to  Nick,  and  sat  on  a  lower  rung.  Pres 
ently  I  saw  him  raise  himself,  reach  in,  and  duck  quickly. 

"Feel  that,"  he  whispered  to  me,  chuckling  and  holding 
out  his  hand. 

It  was  full  of  money. 

'•'  But  that's  stealing,  Nick,"  I  said,  frightened. 
'•  Of  course  I'll  give  it  back,"  he  whispered  indignantly. 

Instantly  there  came  loud  words  and  the  scraping  of 
chairs  within  the  room,  and  a  woman's  scream.  I  heard 
Mr.  Riddle's  voice  say  thickly,  amid  the  silence  that 
followed  :  — 

"  Mr.  Darnley,  you're  a  d — d  thief,  sir." 

"  You  shall  answer  for  this,  when  you  are  sober,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Darnley. 

Then  there  came  more  scraping  of  chairs,  all  the  com 
pany  talking  excitedly  at  once.  Nick  and  I  scrambled  to 
the  ground,  and  we  did  the  very  worst  thing  we  could 
possibly  have  done,  —  we  took  the  ladder  away. 

There  was  little  sleep  for  me  that  night.  I  had  first  of 
all  besought  Nick  to  go  up  into  the  drawing-room  and 
give  the  money  back.  But  some  strange  obstinacy  in 
him  resisted. 

"'Twill  serve  Harry  well  for  what  he  did  to-day," 
said  he. 

My  next  thought  was  to  find  Mr.  Mason,  but  he  was 
gone  up  the  river  to  visit  a  sick  parishioner.  I  had  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  gentlemen  fought  for 
less  than  what  had  occurred  in  the  drawing-room  that 
evening.  And  though  I  had  neither  love  nor  admiration 
for  Mr.  Riddle,  and  though  the  stout  gentleman  was  no 
friend  of  mine,  I  cared  not  to  see  either  of  them  killed  for 
a  prank.  But  Nick  would  not  listen  to  me,  and  went  to 
sleep  in  the  midst  of  my  urgings. 

"Davy,"  said  he,  pinching  me,  "do  you  know  what 
you  are  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  You're  a  granny,"  he  said.  And  that  was  the  last 
word  I  could  get  out  of  him.  But  I  lay  awake  a  long 


50  THE  CROSSING 

time,  thinking.  Breed  had  whiled  away  for  me  one  hot 
morning  in  Charlestown  with  an  account  of  the  gentry 
and  their  doings,  many  of  which  he  related  in  an  awed 
whisper  that  I  could  not  understand.  They  were  wild 
doings  indeed  to  me.  But  strangest  of  all  seemed  the 
duels,  conducted  with  a  decorum  and  ceremony  as  rigorous 
as  the  law. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  duel,  Breed  ?  "  I  had  asked. 

"Yessah,"  said  Breed,  dramatically,  rolling  the  whites 
of  his  eyes. 

«  Where  ?  " 

"  Whah  ?  Down  on  de  riveh  bank  at  Temple  Bow  in 
de  ea'ly  mo'nin'  !  Dey  mos'  commonly  fights  at  de 
dawn." 

Breed  had  also  told  me  where  he  was  in  hiding  at  the 
time,  and  that  was  what  troubled  me.  Try  as  I  would,  I 
could  not  remember.  It  had  sounded  like  Clam  Shell. 
That  I  recalled,  and  how  Breed  had  looked  out  at  the 
sword-play  through  the  cracks  of  the  closed  shutters, 
agonized  between  fear  of  ghosts  within  and  the  drama 
without.  At  the  first  faint  light  that  came  into  our 
window  I  awakened  Nick. 

"  Listen,"  I  said ;  "  do  you  know  a  place  called  Clam 
Shell?" 

He  turned  over,  but  I  punched  him  persistently  until 
he  sat  up. 

"  What  the  deuce  ails  you,  Davy  ?  "  he  asked,  rubbing 
his  eyes.  "  Have  you  nightmare  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  a  place  called  Clam  Shell,  down  on  the 
river  bank,  Nick  ?  " 

"  Why,"  he  replied,  "  you  must  be  thinking  of  Cram's 
Hell/' 

"  What's  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It's  a  house  that  used  to  belong  to  Cram,  who  was  an 
overseer.  The  niggers  hated  him,  and  he  was  killed  in 
bed  by  a  big  black  nigger  chief  from  Africa.  The  niggers 
won't  go  near  the  place.  They  say  it's  haunted." 

"  Get  up,"  said  I;  "  we're  going  there  now." 

Nick  sprang  out  of  bed  and  began  to  get  into  his  clothes. 


CRAM'S   HELL  51 

"  Is  it  a  game  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes."     He  was  always  ready  for  a  game. 

We  climbed  out  of  the  window,  and  made  our  way  in 
the  mist  through  the  long,  wet  grass,  Nick  leading.  He 
took  a  path  through  a  dark  forest  swamp,  over  logs  that 
spanned  the  stagnant  waters,  and  at  length,  just  as  the 
mist  was  growing  pearly  in  the  light,  we  came  out  at  a 
tumble-down  house  that  stood  in  an  open  glade  by  the 
river's  bank. 

"  What's  to  do  now  ?  "  said  Nick. 

"  We  must  get  into  the  house,"  I  answered.  But  I  con 
fess  I  didn't  care  for  the  looks  of  it. 

Nick  stared  at  me. 

"Very  good,  Davy,"  he  said;  "I'll  follow  where  you 

go-" 

It  was  a  Saturday  morning.  Why  I  recall  this  I  do  not 
know.  It  has  no  special  significance. 

I  tried  the  door.  With  a  groan  and  a  shriek  it  gave 
way,  disclosing  the  blackness  inside.  We  started  back 
involuntarily.  I  looked  at  Nick,  and  Nick  at  me.  He  was 
very  pale,  and  so  must  I  have  been.  But  such  was  the 
respect  we  each  held  for  the  other's  courage  that  neither 
dared  flinch.  And  so  I  walked  in,  although  it  seemed  as 
if  my  shirt  was  made  of  needle  points  and  my  hair  stood 
on  end.  The  crackings  of  the  old  floor  were  to  me  like 
the  shots  in  Charlestown  Bay.  Our  hearts  beating  wildly, 
we  made  our  way  into  a  farther  room.  It  was  like  walk 
ing  into  the  beyond. 

"  Is  there  a  window  here  ? "  I  asked  Nick,  my  voice 
sounding  like  a  shout. 

"Yes,  ahead  of  us." 

Groping  for  it,  I  suddenly  received  a  shock  that  set  me 
reeling.  Human  nature  could  stand  no  more.  We  both 
turned  tail  and  ran  out  of  the  house  as  fast  as  we  could, 
and  stood  in  the  wet  grass,  panting.  Then  shame  came. 

"  Let's  open  the  window  first,"  I  suggested.  So  we 
walked  around  the  house  and  pried  the  solid  shutter  from 
its  fastenings.  Then,  gathering  our  courage,  we  went  in 
again  at  the  door.  In  the  dim  light  let  into  the  farther 


62  THE  CROSSING 

room  we  saw  a  four-poster  bed,  old  and  cheap,  with  ragged 
curtains.  It  was  this  that  I  had  struck  in  my  groping. 

"  The  chief  killed  Cram  there,"  said  Nick,  in  an  awed 
voice,  "in  that  bed.  What  do  you  want  to  do  here, 
Davy?" 

"  Wait,"  I  said,  though  I  had  as  little  mind  to  wait  as 
ever  in  my  life.  "  Stand  here  by  the  window." 

We  waited  there.  The  mist  rose.  The  sun  peeped 
over  the  bank  of  dense  green  forest  and  spread  rainbow 
colors  on  the  still  waters  of  the  river.  Now  and  again 
a  fish  broke,  or  a  great  bird  swooped  down  and  slit  the 
surface.  A  far-off  snatch  of  melody  came  to  our  ears,  — 
the  slaves  were  going  to  work.  Nothing  more.  And 
little  by  little  grave  misgivings  gnawed  at  my  soul  of  the 
wisdom  of  coming  to  this  place.  Doubtless  there  were 
many  other  spots. 

"Davy,"  said  Nick,  at  last,  "I'm  sorry  I  took  that 
money.  What  are  we  here  for '?  " 

"  Hush !  "  I  whispered;  "  do  you  hear  anything  ?  " 

"No." 

I  did,  and  distinctly.  For  I  had  been  brought  up  in 
the  forest. 

"I  hear  voices,"  he  said  presently,  "coming  this  way." 

They  were  very  clear  to  me  by  then.  Emerging  from 
the  forest  path  were  five  gentlemen.  The  leader,  more 
plainly  dressed  than  the  others,  carried  a  leather  case. 
Behind  him  was  the  stout  figure  of  Mr.  Darnley,  his  face 
solemn ;  and  last  of  all  came  Mr.  Harry  Riddle,  very  pale, 
but  cutting  the  tops  of  the  long  grass  witn  a  switch. 
Nick  seized  my  arm. 

"They  are  going  to  fight,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  we  are  here  to  stop  them,  now." 

"  No,  not  now,"  he  said,  holding  me  still.  "  We'll  have 
some  more  fun  out  of  this  yet." 

"  Fun  ?  "  I  echoed. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  excitedly.  "  Leave  it  to  me.  I  shan't 
let  them  fight." 

And  that  instant  we  changed  generals,  David  giving 
place  to  Nicholas. 


CRAM'S  HELL  63 

Mr.  Riddle  retired  with  one  gentleman  to  a  side  of  the 
little  patch  of  grass,  and  Mr.  Darnley  and  a  friend  to 
another.  The  fifth  gentleman  took  a  position  halfway 
between  the  two,  and,  opening  the  leather  case,  laid  it 
down  on  the  grass,  where  its  contents  glistened. 

"That's  Dr.  Ball,"  whispered  Nick.  And  his  voice 
shook  with  excitement. 

Mr.  Riddle  stripped  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and 
ruffles,  and  his  sword-belt,  and  Mr.  Darnley  did  the  same. 
Both  gentlemen  drew  their  swords  and  advanced  to  the 
middle  of  the  lawn,  and  stood  opposite  one  another,  with 
flowing  linen  shirts  open  at  the  throat,  and  bared  heads. 
They  were  indeed  a  contrast.  Mr.  Riddle,  tall  and  white, 
with  closed  lips,  glared  at  his  opponent.  Mr.  Darnley  cut 
a  merrier  figure,  —  rotund  and  flushed,  with  fat  calves  and 
short  arms,  though  his  countenance  was  sober  enough. 
All  at  once  the  two  were  circling  their  swords  in  the  air, 
and  then  .Nick  had  flung  open  the  shutter  an:1  leaped 
through  the  window,  and  was  running  and  shouting 
towards  the  astonished  gentlemen,  all  of  whom  wheeled  to 
face  him.  He  jingled  as  he  ran. 

"  What  in  the  devil's  name  now  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Riddle, 
angrily.  "  Here's  this  imp  again." 

Nicholas  stopped  in  front  of  him,  and,  thrusting  his 
hand  in  his  breeches  pocket,  fished  out  a  handful  of  gold 
and  silver,  which  he  held  out  to  the  confounded  Mr. 
Riddle. 

"Harry,"  said  he,  "here's  something  of  yours  I  found 
last  night." 

"  You  found  ?  "  echoed  Mr.  Riddle,  in  a  strange  voice, 
amidst  a  dead  silence.  "  You  found  where  ?  " 

"  On  the  table  beside  you." 

"  And  where  the  deuce  were  you?  "Mr.  Riddle  demanded. 

"  In  the  window  behind  you,"  said  Nick,  calmly. 

This  piece  of  information,  to  Mr.  Riddle's  plain  discom 
fiture,  was  greeted  with  a  roar  of  laughter,  Mr.  Darnley 
himself  laughing  loudest.  Nor  were  these  gentlemen  sat 
isfied  with  that.  They  crowded  around  Mr.  Riddle  and 
slapped  him  on  the  back,  Mr.  Darnley  joining  in  with  the 


64  THE  CROSSING 

rest.  And  presently  Mr.  Riddle  flung  away  his  sword, 
and  laughed,  too,  giving  his  hand  to  Mr.  Darnley. 

At  length  Mr.  Darnley  turned  to  Nick,  who  had  stood 
all  this  while  behind  them,  unmoved. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  seriously,  "  such  is  your  regard 
for  human  life,  you  will  probably  one  day  be  a  pirate  or 
an  outlaw.  This  time  we've  had  a  laugh.  The  next  time 
somebody  will  be  weeping.  I  wish  I  were  your  father." 

"  I  wish  you  were,"  said  Nick. 

This  took  Mr.  Darnley's  breath.  He  glanced  at  the 
other  gentlemen,  who  returned  his  look  significantly.  He 
laid  his  hand  kindly  on  the  lad's  head. 

"Nick,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  to  God  I  were  your  father." 

After  that  they  all  went  home,  very  merry,  to  breakfast, 
Nick  and  I  coming  after  them.  Nick  was  silent  until  we 
reached  the  house. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  then,  "  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ten  "  I  answered.      "  How  old  did  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Eighty,"  said  he. 

The  next  day,  being  Sunday,  we  all  gathered  in  the 
little  church  to  hear  Mr.  Mason  preach.  Nick  and  I  sat 
in  the  high  box  pew  of  the  family  with  Mrs.  Temple,  who 
paid  not  the  least  attention  to  the  sermon.  As  for  me, 
the  rhythm  of  it  held  me  in  fascination.  Mr.  Mason  had 
written  it  out  and  that  afternoon  read  over  this  part  of  it 
to  Nick.  The  quotation  I  recall,  having  since  read  it  many 
times,  and  the  gist  of  it  was  in  this  wise :  — 

"  And  he  said  unto  him,  '  What  thou  wilt  have  thou 
wilt  have,  despite  the  sin  of  it.  Blessed  are  the  stolid, 
and  thrice  cursed  he  who  hath  imagination,  —  for  that 
imagination  shall  devour  him.  And  in  thy  life  a  sin  shall 
be  presented  unto  thee  with  a  great  longing.  God,  who  is 
in  heaven,  gird  thee  for  that  struggle,  my  son,  for  it  will 
surely  come.  That  it  may  be  said  of  you,  "  Behold,  I  have 
refined  thee,  but  not  with  silver,  I  have  chosen  thee  in  the 
furnace  of  affliction."  Seven  days  shalt  thou  wrestle  with 
thy  soul;  seven  nights  shall  evil  haunt  thee,  and  how  thou 
shalt  come  forth  from  that  struggle  no  man  may  know.' ' 


CHAPTER  VI 

MAX  PROPOSES,   BUT   GOD  DISPOSES 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  another  Sunday  came, —  a  Sunday  so 
still  and  hot  and  moist  that  steam  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
heavy  trees,  —  an  idle  day  for  master  and  servant  alike. 
A  hush  was  in  the  air,  and  a  presage  of  we  knew  not 
what.  It  weighed  upon  my  spirits,  and  even  Nick's, 
and  we  wandered  restlessly  under  the  trees,  seeking  for 
distraction. 

About  two  o'clock  a  black  line  came  on  the  horizon,  and 
slowly  crept  higher  until  it  broke  into  giant,  fantastic 
shapes.  Mutterings  arose,  but  the  sun  shone  hot  as  ever. 

"  We're  to  have  a  hurricane,"  said  Nick.  "  I  wish  we 
might  have  it  and  be  done  with  it." 

At  five  the  sun  went  under.  I  remember  that  Madame 
was  lolling  listless  in  the  garden,  daintily  arrayed  in  fine 
linen,  trying  to  talk  to  Mr.  Mason,  when  a  sound  startled 
us.  It  was  the  sound  of  swift  hoof  beats  on  the  soft 
drive. 

Mrs.  Temple  got  up,  an  unusual  thing.  Perchance  she 
was  expecting  a  message  from  some  of  the  gentlemen  ;  or 
else  she  may  well  have  been  tired  of  Mr.  Mason.  Nick 
and  I  were  before  her,  and,  running  through  the  house, 
arrived  at  the  portico  in  time  to  see  a  negro  ride  up  on  a 
horse  covered  with  lather. 

It  was  the  same  negro  who  had  fetched  me  hither  from 
Mr.  Lowndes.  And  when  I  saw  him  my  heart  stood  still 
lest  he  had  brought  news  of  my  father. 

"  What's  to  do,  boy  ?  "  cried  Nicholas  to  him. 

The  boy  held  in  his  hand  a  letter  with  a  great  red  seal. 

"  Fo'  Mistis  Temple,"  he  said,  and,  looking  at  me  queerly, 

65 


66  THE  CROSSING 

he  took  off  his  cap  as  he  jumped  from  the  horse.  Mistress 
Temple  herself  having  arrived,  he  handed  her  the  letter. 
She  took  it,  and  broke  the  seal  carelessly. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it's  only  from  Mr.  Lowndes.  I  won 
der  what  he  wishes  now." 

Every  moment  of  her  reading  was  for  me  an  agony,  and 
she  read  slowly.  The  last  words  she  spoke  aloud :  — 

" '  If  you  do  not  wish  the  lad,  send  him  to  me,  as  Kate 
is  very  fond  of  him.'  So  Kate  is  very  fond  of  him,"  she 
repeated.  And  handing  the  letter  to  Mr.  Mason,  she 
added,  "  Tell  him,  Parson." 

The  words  burned  into  my  soul  and  seared  it.  And  to 
this  day  I  tremble  with  anger  as  I  think  of  them.  The 
scene  comes  before  me :  the  sky,  the  darkened  portico, 
and  Nicholas  running  after  his  mother  crying:  "Oh, 
mamma,  how  could  you!  How  could  you!  " 

Mr.  Mason  bent  over  me  in  compassion,  and  smoothed 
my  hair. 

"  David,"  said  he,  in  a  thick  voice,  "  you  are  a  brave 
boy,  David.  You  will  need  all  your  courage  now,  my 
son.  May  God  keep  your  nature  sweet !  " 

He  led  me  gently  into  the  arbor  and  told  me  how, 
under  Captain  Baskin,  the  detachment  had  been  ambushed 
by  the  Cherokees ;  and  how  my  father,  with  Ensign  Cal- 
houn  and  another,  had  been  killed,  fighting  bravely.  The 
rest  of  the  company  had  cut  their  way  through  and  reached 
the  settlements  after  terrible  hardships. 

I  was  left  an  orphan. 

I  shall  not  dwell  here  on  the  bitterness  of  those  mo 
ments.  We  have  all  known  sorrows  in  our  lives,  —  great 
sorrows.  The  clergyman  was  a  wise  man,  and  did  not 
strive  to  comfort  me  with  words.  But  he  sat  there  under 
the  leaves  with  his  arm  about  me  until  a  blinding  bolt 
split  the  blackness  of  the  sky  and  the  thunder  rent  our 
ears,  and  a  Caribbean  storm  broke  over  Temple  Bow  with 
all  the  fury  of  the  tropics.  Then  he  led  me  through  the 
drenching  rain  into  the  house,  nor  heeded  the  wet  him 
self  on  his  Sunday  coat. 

A  great  anger  stayed  me  in  my  sorrow.     I  would  no 


MAN  PEOPOSES,  BUT  GOD  DISPOSES          67 

longer  tarry  under  Mrs.  Temple's  roof,  though  the  world 
without  were  a  sea  or  a  desert.  The  one  resolution  to 
escape  rose  stronger  and  stronger  within  me,  and  I  deter 
mined  neither  to  eat  nor  sleep  until  I  had  got  away.  The 
thought  of  leaving  Nick  was  heavy  indeed;  and  when  he 
ran  to  me  in  the  dark  hall  and  threw  his  arms  around  me, 
it  needed  all  my  strength  to  keep  from  crying  aloud. 

"  Davy,"  he  said  passionately,  "  Davy,  you  mustn't 
mind  what  she  says.  She  never  means  anything  she  says 
—  she  never  cares  for  anything  save  her  pleasure.  You 
and  I  will  stay  here  until  we  are  old  enough  to  run  away 
to  Kentucky.  Davy  !  Answer  me,  Davy !  " 

I  could  not,  try  as  I  would.  There  were  no  words  that 
would  come  with  honesty.  But  I  pulled  him  down  on  the 
mahogany  settle  near  the  door  which  led  into  the  back 
gallery,  and  there  we  sat  huddled  together  in  silence, 
while  the  storm  raged  furiously  outside  and  the  draughts 
banged  the  great  doors  of  the  house.  In  the  lightning 
flashes  I  saw  Nick's  face,  and  it  haunted  me  afterwards 
through  many  years  of  wandering.  On  it  was  written  a 
sorrow  for  me  greater  than  my  own  sorrow.  For  God 
had  given  to  this  lad  every  human  passion  and  compassion. 

The  storm  rolled  away  with  the  night,  and  Mammy 
came  through  the  hall  with  a  candle. 

"  Whah  is  you,  Marse  Nick  ?  Whah  is  you,  honey  ? 
You'  suppah's  ready." 

And  so  we  went  into  our  little  dining  room,  but  I  would 
not  eat.  The  good  old  negress  brushed  her  eyes  with  her 
apron  as  she  pressed  a  cake  upon  me  she  had  made  her 
self,  for  she  had  grown  fond  of  me.  And  presently  we 
went  away  silently  to  bed. 

It  was  a  long,  long  time  before  Nick's  breathing  told 
me  that  he  was  asleep.  He  held  me  tightly  clutched  to 
him,  and  I  know  that  he  feared  I  would  leave  him.  The 
thought  of  going  broke  my  heart,  but  I  never  once  wa 
vered  in  my  resolve,  and  I  lay  staring  into  the  darkness, 
pondering  what  to  do.  I  thought  of  good  Mr.  Lowndes 
and  his  wife,  and  I  decided  to  go  to  Charlestown.  Some 
of  my  boyish  motives  come  back  to  me  now :  I  should  be 


58  THE  CKOSSING 

near  Nick  ;  and  even  at  that  age,  — having  lived  a  life  of 
self-reliance,  —  I  thought  of  gaining  an  education  and  of 
rising  to  a  place  of  trust.  Yes,  I  would  go  to  Mr. 
Lowndes,  and  ask  him  to  let  me  work  for  him  and  so 
earn  my  education. 

With  a  heavy  spirit  I  crept  out  of  bed,  slowly  disen 
gaging  Nick's  arm  lest  he  should  wake.  He  turned  over 
and  sighed  in  his  sleep.  Carefully  I  dressed  myself,  and 
after  I  was  dressed  I  could  not  refrain  from  slipping  to 
the  bedside  to  bend  over  him  once  again,  —  for  he  was 
the  only  one  in  my  life  with  whom  I  had  found  true  com 
panionship.  Then  I  climbed  carefully  out  of  the  window, 
and  so  down  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the  ground. 

It  was  starlight,  and  a  waning  moon  hung  in  the  sky. 
I  made  my  way  through  the  drive  between  the  black 
shadows  of  the  forest,  and  came  at  length  to  the  big 
gates  at  the  entrance,  locked  for  the  night.  A  strange 
thought  of  their  futility  struck  me  as  I  climbed  the  rail 
fence  beside  them,  and  pushed  on  into  the  main  road,  the 
mud  sucking  under  my  shoes  as  I  went.  As  I  try  now  to 
cast  my  memory  back  I  can  recall  no  fear,  only  a  vast 
sense  of  loneliness,  and  the  very  song  of  it  seemed  to  be 
sung  in  never  ending  refrain  by  the  insects  of  the  night. 
I  had  been  alone  in  the  mountains  before.  I  have  crossed 
great  strips  of  wilderness  since,  but  always  there  was  love 
to  go  back  to.  Then  I  was  leaving  the  only  being  in  the 
world  that  remained  to  me. 

I  must  have  walked  two  hours  or  more  before  I  came  to 
the  mire  of  a  cross-road,  and  there  I  stood  in  a  quandary 
of  doubt  as  to  which  side  led  to  Charlestown. 

As  I  lingered  a  light  began  to  tremble  in  the  heavens. 
A  cock  crew  in  the  distance.  I  sat  down  on  a  fallen  log 
to  rest.  But  presently,  as  the  light  grew,  I  heard  shouts 
which  drew  nearer  and  deeper  and  brought  me  to  my  feet 
in  an  uncertainty  of  expectation.  Next  came  the  rattling 
of  chains,  the  scramble  of  hoofs  in  the  mire,  and  here  was 
a  wagon  with  a  big  canvas  cover.  Beside  the  straining 
horses  was  a  great,  burly  man  with,  a  red  beard,  cracking 
his  long  whip,  and  calling  to  the  horses  in  a  strange 


MAN  PROPOSES,   BUT  GOD  DISPOSES  59 

tongue.  He  stopped  still  beside  his  panting  animals 
when  he  saw  me,  his  high  boots  sunk  in  the  mud. 

"  Gut  morning,  poy,"  he  said,  wiping  his  red  face  with 
his  sleeve  ;  "  what  you  do  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Charlestown,"  I  answered. 

"  Ach  !  "  he  cried,  "  dot  is  pad.  Mein  poy,  he  run 
avay.  You  are  ein  gut  poy,  I  know.  I  vill  pay  ein  gut 
price  to  help  me  vit  mein  wagon  — ja." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  I  demanded,  with  a  sudden 
wavering. 

"Up  country  —  pack  country.  You  know  der  Proad 
River  —  yes  ?  " 

No,  I  did  not.  But  a  longing  came  upon  me  for  the 
old  backwoods  life,  with  its  freedom  and  self-reliance, 
and  a  hatred  for  this  steaming  country  of  heat  and  violent 
storms,  and  artificiality  and  pomp.  And  I  had  a  desire, 
even  at  that  age,  to  make  my  own  way  in  the  world. 

"  What  will  you  give  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

At  that  he  put  his  finger  to  his  nose. 

"  Thruppence  py  the  day." 

I  shook  my  head.     He  looked  at  me  queerly. 

"  How  old  you  pe,  —  twelve,  yes  ?  " 

Now  I  had  no  notion  of  telling  him.  So  I  said  :  "  Is 
this  the  Charlestown  road  ?  " 

"  Fourpence  !  "  he  cried,  "  dot  is  riches." 

"  I  will  go  for  sixpence,"  I  answered. 

"Mein  Gott !  "  he  cried,  "sixpence.  Dot  is  robbery." 
But  seeing  me  obdurate,  he  added  :  "  I  vill  give  it,  be 
cause  ein  poy  I  must  have.  Vat  is  your  name,  —  Tavid  ? 
You  are  ein  sharp  poy,  Tavid." 

And  so  I  went  with  him. 

In  writing  a  biography,  the  relative  value  of  days  and 
years  should  hold,  There  are  days  which  count  in  space 
for  years,  and  years  for  days.  I  spent  the  time  on  the 
whole  happily  with  this  Dutchman,  whose  name  was  Hans 
Koppel.  He  talked  merrily  save  when  he  spoke  of  the 
war  against  England,  and  then  contemptuously,  for  he 
was  a  bitter  English  partisan.  And  in  contrast  to  this 
he  would  dwell  for  hours  on  a  king  he  called  Friedrich 


60  THE  CROSSING 

der  Grosse,  and  a  war  lie  waged  that  was  a  war;  and 
how  this  mighty  king  had  fought  a  mighty  queen  at  Ross- 
bach  and  Leuthen  in  his  own  country,  —  battles  that  were 
battles. 

"  And  you  were  there,  Hans  ?  "  I  asked  him  once. 

"  Ja,"  he  said,  "but  I  did  not  stay." 

"  You  ran  away  ?  " 

"Ja,"  Hans  would  answer,  laughing,  "run  avay.  I 
love  peace,  Tavid.  Dot  is  vy  I  come  here,  and  now," 
bitterly,  "  and  now  ve  haf  var  again  once." 

I  would  say  nothing  ;  but  I  must  have  looked  my  dis 
approval,  for  he  went  on  to  explain  that  in  Saxe-Gotha, 
where  he  was  born,  men  were  made  to  fight  whether  they 
would  or  no ;  and  they  were  stolen  from  their  wives  at 
night  by  soldiers  of  the  great  king,  or  lured  away  by  fair 
promises. 

Travelling  with  incredible  slowness,  in  due  time  we 
came  to  a  county  called  Orangeburg,  where  all  were 
Dutchmen  like  Hans,  and  very  few  spoke  English.  And 
they  all  thought  like  Hans,  and  loved  peace,  and  hated 
the  Congress.  On  Sundays,  as  we  lay  over  at  the  taverns, 
these  would  be  filled  with  a  rollicking  crowd  of  fiddlers 
and  dancers,  quaintly  dressed,  the  women  bringing  their 
children  and  babies.  At  such  times  Hans  would  be  drunk, 
and  I  would  have  to  feed  the  tired  horses  and  mount 
watch  over  the  cargo.  I  had  many  adventures,  but  none 
worth  the  telling  here.  And  at  length  we  came  to  Hans's 
farm,  in  a  prettily  rolling  country  on  the  Broad  River. 
Hans's  wife  spoke  no  English  at  all,  nor  did  the  brood  of 
children  running  about  the  house.  I  had  small  fancy  for 
staying  in  such  a  place,  and  so  Hans  paid  me  two  crowns 
for  my  three  weeks'  service  ;  I  think,  with  real  regret, 
for  labor  was  scarce  in  those  parts,  and  though  I  was 
young,  I  knew  how  to  work.  And  I  could  at  least  have 
guided  his  plough  in  the  furrow  and  cared  for  his  cattle. 

It  was  the  first  money  I  had  earned  in  my  life,  and  a 
prouder  day  than  many  I  have  had  since. 

For  the  convenience  of  travellers  passing  that  way,  Hans 
kept  a  tavern,  —  if  it  could  have  been  dignified  by  such  a 


MAN  PKOPOSES,  BUT  GOD  DISPOSES  61 

name.  It  was  in  truth  merely  a  log  house  with  shake 
downs,  and  stood  across  the  rude  road  from  his  log  farm 
house.  And  he  gave  me  leave  to  sleep  there  and  to  work 
for  my  board  until  I  cared  to  leave.  It  so  chanced  that 
on  the  second  day  after  my  arrival  a  pack-train  came 
along,  guided  by  a  nettlesome  old  man  and  a  strong, 
black-haired  lass  of  sixteen  or  thereabouts.  The  old  man, 
whose  name  was  Ripley,  wore  a  nut-brown  hunting  shirt 
trimmed  with  red  cotton  ;  and  he  had  no  sooner  slipped 
the  packs  from  his  horses  than  he  began  to  rail  at  Hans, 
who  stood  looking  on. 

"  You  damned  Dutchmen  be  all  Tories,  and  worse,"  he 
cried  ;  "  you  stay  here  and  till  your  farms  while  our  boys 
are  off  in  the  hill  towns  fighting  Cherokees.  I  wish  the 
devils  had  every  one  of  your  fat  sculps.  Polly  Ann, 
water  the  nags." 

Hans  replied  to  this  sally  with  great  vigor,  lapsing 
into  Dutch.  Polly  Ann  led  the  scrawny  ponies  to  the 
trough,  but  her  eyes  snapped  with  merriment  as  she 
listened.  She  was  a  wonderfully  comely  lass,  despite  her 
loose  cotton  gown  and  poke-bonnet  and  the  shoepacks  on 
her  feet.  She  had  blue  eyes,  the  whitest,  strongest  of 
teeth,  and  the  rosiest  of  faces. 

"  Gran'pa  hates  a  Dutchman  wuss'n  pizen,"  she  said  to 
me.  "  So  do  I.  We've  all  been  burned  out  and  sculped 
up  river  —  and  they  never  give  us  so  much  as  a  man  or  a 
measure  of  corn." 

I  helped  her  feed  the  animals,  and  tether  them,  and 
loose  their  bells  for  the  night,  and  carry  the  packs 
under  cover. 

"  All  the  boys  is  gone  to  join  Rutherford  and  lam  the 
Indians,"  she  continued,  "  so  Gran'pa  and  I  had  to  go  to 
the  settlements.  There  wahn't  any  one  else.  What's 
your  name  ?  "  she  demanded  suddenly. 

I  told  her. 

She  sat  down  on  a  log  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
pulled  me  down  beside  her. 

"  And  whar  be  you  from  ?  " 

I  told  her.     It  was  impossible  to  look  into  her  face  and 


62  THE  CROSSING 

not  tell  her.  She  listened  eagerly,  now  with  compassion, 
and  now  showing  her  white  teeth  in  amusement.  And 
when  I  had  done,  much  to  my  discomfiture,  she  seized  me 
in  her  strong  arms  and  kissed  me. 

"  Poor  Davy,"  she  cried,  "  you  ain't  got  a  home.  You 
shall  come  home  with  us." 

Catching  me  by  the  hand,  she  ran  like  a  deer  across  the 
road  to  where  her  grandfather  was  still  quarrelling 
violently  with  Hans,  and  pulled  him  backward  by  the 
skirts  of  his  hunting  shirt.  I  looked  for  another  and 
mightier  explosion  from  the  old  backwoodsman,  but  to  my 
astonishment  he  seemed  to  forget  Hans's  existence,  and 
turned  and  smiled  on  her  benevolently. 

"  Polly  Ann,"  said  he,  "  what  be  you  about  now  ?  " 

"  Gran'pa,"  said  she,  "  here's  Davy  Trimble,  who's  a 
good  boy,  and  his  pa  is  just  killed  by  the  Cherokees  along 
with  Baskin,  and  he  wants  work  and  a  home,  and  he's 
comin'  along  with  us." 

"All  right,  David,"  answered  Mr.  Ripley,  mildly,  "ef 
Polly  Ann  says  so,  you  kin  come.  Whar  was  you 
raised  ?  " 

I  told  him  on  the  upper  Yadkin. 

"  You  don't  tell  me,"  said  he.  "  Did  ye  ever  know  Dan'l 
Boone  ?  " 

"  I  did,  indeed,  sir,"  I  answered,  my  face  lighting  up. 
"  Can  you  tell  me  where  he  is  now  ?  " 

"  He's  gone  to  Kaintuckee,  them  new  settlements,  fer 
good.  And  ef  I  wasn't  eighty  years  old,  I'd  go  thar,  too." 

"  I  reckon  I'll  go  thar  when  I'm  married,"  said  Polly 
Ann,  and  blushed  redder  than  ever.  Drawing  me  to  her, 
she  said,  "I'll  take  you,  too,  Davy." 

"  When  you  marry  that  wuthless  Tom  McChesney," 
said  her  grandfather,  testily. 

"  He's  not  wuthless,"  said  Polly,  hotly.  "  He's  the  best 
man  in  Rutherford's  army.  He'll  git  more  sculps  then 
any  of  'em,  —  you  see." 

"  Tavy  is  ein  gut  poy,"  Hans  put  in,  for  he  had 
recovered  his  composure.  "I  wish  much  he  stay  mit 
me." 


MAN  PROPOSES,   BUT   GOD  DISPOSES          63 

As  for  me,  Polly  Ann  never  consulted  me  on  the  sub 
ject —  nor  had  she  need  to.  I  would  have  followed  her  to 
kingdom  come,  and  at  the  thought  of  reaching  the  moun 
tains  my  heart  leaped  with  joy.  We  all  slept  in  the  one 
flea-infested,  windowless  room  of  the  "tavern  "  that  night; 
and  before  dawn  I  was  up  and  untethered  the  horses,  and 
Polly  Ann  and  I  together  lifted  the  two  bushels  of  alum 
salt  on  one  of  the  beasts  and  the  ploughshare  on  the  other. 
By  daylight  we  had  left  Hans  and  his  farm  forever. 

I  can  see  the  lass  now,  as  she  strode  along  the  trace  by 
the  flowing  river,  through  sunlight  and  shadow,  straight 
and  supple  and  strong.  Sometimes  she  sang  like  a  bird, 
and  the  forest  rang.  Sometimes  she  would  make  fun  of 
her  grandfather  or  of  me;  and  again  she  would  be  silent 
for  an  hour  at  a  time,  staring  ahead,  and  then  I  knew  she 
was  thinking  of  that  Tom  McChesney.  She  would  wake 
from  those  reveries  with  a  laugh,  and  give  me  a  push  to 
send  me  rolling  down  a  bank. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Davy  ?  You  look  as  solemn  as  a 
wood-owl.  What  a  little  wiseacre  you  be  !  " 

Once  I  retorted,  "  You  were  thinking  of  that  Tom 
McChesney." 

"Ay,  that  she  was,  I'll  warrant,"  snapped  her  grand 
father. 

Polly  Ann  replied,  with  a  merry  peal  of  laughter, 
"You  are  both  jealous  of  Tom  —  both  of  you.  But, 
Davy,  when  you  see  him  you'll  love  him  as  much  as  I 
do." 

"  I'll  not,"  I  said  sturdily. 

"  He's  a  man  to  look  upon  —  " 

"  He's  a  rip-roarer,"  old  man  Ripley  put  in.  "  Ye're  daft 
about  him." 

"  That  I  am,"  said  Polly,  flushing  and  subsiding  ;  "  but 
he'll  not  know  it." 

As  we  rose  into  the  more  rugged  country  we  passed 
more  than  one  charred  cabin  that  told  its  silent  story  of 
Indian  massacre.  Only  on  the  scattered  hill  farms  women 
and  boys  and  old  men  were  working  in  the  fields,  all  save 
the  scalawags  having  gone  to  join  Rutherford.  There  were 


64  THE  CROSSING 

plenty  of  these  around  the  taverns  to  make  eyes  at  Polly 
Ann  and  open  love  to  her,  had  she  allowed  them ;  but 
she  treated  them  in  return  to  such  scathing  tirades  that 
they  were  glad  to  desist  —  all  but  one.  He  must  have 
been  an  escaped  redemptioner,  for  he  wore  jauntily  a 
swanskin  three-cornered  hat  and  stained  breeches  of  a  fine 
cloth.  He  was  a  bold,  vain  fellow. 

"  My  beauty,"  says  he,  as  we  sat  at  supper,  "  silver  and 
Wedgwood  better  become  you  than  pewter  and  a 
trencher." 

"And  I  reckon  a  rope  would  sit  better  on  your  neck 
than  a  ruff,"  retorted  Polly  Ann,  while  the  company 
shouted  with  laughter.  But  he  was  not  the  kind  to 
become  discomfited. 

"  I'd  give  a  guinea  to  see  you  in  silk.  But  I  vow  your 
hair  looks  better  as  it  is." 

"  Not  so  yours,"  said  she,  like  lightning ;  "  'twould  look 
better  to  me  hanging  on  the  belt  of  one  of  them  red 
devils." 

In  the  morning,  when  he  would  have  lifted  the  pack 
of  alum  salt,  Polly  Ann  gave  him  a  push  that  sent  him 
sprawling.  But  she  did  it  in  such  good  nature  withal 
that  the  fellow  mistook  her.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
flung  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  kissed  her.  Where 
upon  I  hit  him  with  a  sapling,  and  he  staggered  and  let 
her  go. 

"  You  imp  of  hell  !  "  he  cried,  rubbing  the  bump.  He 
made  a  vicious  dash  at  me  that  boded  no  good,  but  I 
slipped  behind  the  hominy  block;  and  Polly  Ann,  who 
was  like  a  panther  on  her  feet,  dashed  at  him  and  gave 
him  a  buffet  in  the  cheek  that  sent  him  reeling  again. 

After  that  we  were  more  devoted  friends  than  ever. 

We  travelled  slowly,  day  by  day,  until  I  saw  the  moun 
tains  lift  blue  against  the  western  sky,  and  the  sight  of 
them  was  like  home  once  more.  I  loved  them  ;  and 
though  I  thought  with  sadness  of  my  father,  I  was  on 
the  whole  happier  with  Polly  Ann  than  I  had  been  in  the 
lonely  cabin  on  the  Yadkin.  Her  spirits  flagged  a  little 
as  she  drew  near  home,  but  old  Mr.  Ripley's  rose. 


MAN  PROPOSES,   BUT   GOD  DISPOSES          65 

"There's  Burr's,"  he  would  say,  "and  O'Hara's  and 
Williamson's,"  marking  the  cabins  set  amongst  the  stump- 
dotted  corn-fields.  "  And  thar,"  sweeping  his  hand  at  a 
blackened  heap  of  logs  lying  on  the  stones,  "  thar's  whar 
Nell  Tyler  and  her  baby  was  sculped." 

"  Poor  Nell,"  said  Polly  Ann,  the  tears  coming  into  her 
eyes  as  she  turned  away.- 

"And  Jim  Tyler  was  killed  gittin'  to  the  fort.  He 
can't  say  I  didn't  warn  him." 

"  I  reckon  he'll  never  say  nuthin',  now,"  said  Polly 
Ann. 

It  was  in  truth  a  dismal  sight,  —  the  shapeless  timbers, 
the  corn,  planted  with  such  care,  choked  with  weeds,  and 
the  poor  utensils  of  the  little  family  scattered  and  broken 
before  the  door-sill.  These  same  Indians  had  killed  my 
father ;  and  there  surged  up  in  my  breast  that  hatred  of 
the  painted  race  felt  by  every  backwoods  boy  in  my  time. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  day  the  trace  led  into  a  beauti 
ful  green  valley,  and  in  the  middle  of  it  was  a  stream 
shining  in  the  afternoon  sun.  Then  Polly  Ann  fell  en 
tirely  silent.  And  presently,  as  the  shadows  grew  purple, 
we  came  to  a  cabin  set  under  some  spreading  trees  on  a 
knoll  where  a  woman  sat  spinning  at  the  door,  three  chil 
dren  playing  at  her  feet.  She  stared  at  us  so  earnestly 
that  I  looked  at  Polly  Ann,  and  saw  her  redden  and  pale. 
The  children  were  the  first  to  come  shouting  at  us,  and 
then  the  woman  dropped  her  wool  and  ran  down  the  slope 
straight  into  Polly  Ann's  arms.  Mr.  Ripley  halted  the 
horses  with  a  grunt. 

The  two  women  drew  off  and  looked  into  each  other's 
faces.  Then  Polly  Ann  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  Have  ye  —  ?  "  she  said,  and  stopped. 

"  No,  Polly  Ann,  not  one  word  sence  Tom  and  his  Pa 
went.  What  do  folks  say  in  the  settlements  ?  " 

Polly  Ann  turned  up  her  nose. 

"  They  don't  know  nuthin'  in  the  settlements,"  she 
replied. 

"  I  wrote  to  Tom  and  told  him  you  was  gone,"  said  the 
older  woman.  "  I  knowed  he'd  wanter  hear." 


66  THE   CROSSING 

And  she  looked  meaningly  at  Polly  Ann,  who  said 
nothing.  The  children  had  been  pulling  at  the  girl's 
skirts,  and  suddenly  she  made  a  dash  at  them.  They 
scattered,  screaming  with  delight,  and  she  after  them. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Ripley  ? "  said  the  woman,  smiling  a 
little. 

"  Howdy,  Mis'  McChesney  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  shortly. 

So  this  was  the  mother  of  Tom,  of  whom  I  had  heard 
so  much.  She  was,  in  truth,  a  motherly-looking  person, 
her  fleshy  face  creased  with  strong  character. 

"  Who  hev  ye  brought  with  ye  ?  "  she  asked,  glancing 
at  me. 

"  A  lad  Polly  Ann  took  a  shine  to  in  the  settlements," 
said  the  old  man.  "  Polly  Ann !  Polly  Aim  !  "  he  cried 
sharply,  "  we'll  hev  to  be  gittin'  home."  And  then,  as 
though  an  afterthought  (which  it  really  was  not),  he 
added,  "  How  be  ye  for  salt,  Mis'  McChesney  ?  " 

"  So-so,"  said  she. 

"Wai,  I  reckon  a  little  might  come  handy,"  said  he. 
And  to  the  girl  who  stood  panting  beside  him,  "  Polly, 
give  Mis'  McChesney  some  salt." 

Polly  Ann  did,  and  generously,  —  the  salt  they  had 
carried  with  so  much  labor  threescore  and  ten  miles  from 
the  settlements.  Then  we  took  our  departure,  the  girl 
turning  for  one  last  look  at  Tom's  mother,  and  at  the 
cabin  where  he  had  dwelt.  We  were  all  silent  the  rest 
of  the  way,  climbing  the  slender  trail  through  the  forest 
over  the  gap  into  the  next  valley.  For  I  was  jealous  of 
Tom.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own  it  now. 

In  the  smoky  haze  that  rises  just  before  night  lets  her 
curtain  fall,  we  descended  the  farther  slope,  and  came  to 
Mr.  Ripley's  cabin. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  SIGHT   OF  THE   BLUE  WALL   ONCE   MORE 

POLLY  ANN  lived  alone  with  her  grandfather,  her 
father  and  mother  having  been  killed  by  Indians  some 
years  before.  There  was  that  bond  between  us,  had  we 
needed  one.  Her  father  had  built  the  cabin,  a  large  one 
with  a  loft  and  a  ladder  climbing  to  it,  and  a  sleeping 
room  and  a  kitchen.  The  cabin  stood  on  a  terrace  that 
nature  had  levelled,  looking  across  a  swift  and  shallow 
stream  towards  the  mountains.  There  was  the  truck 
patch,  with  its  yellow  squashes  and  melons,  and  cabbages 
and  beans,  where  Polly  Ann  and  I  worked  through  the  hot 
mornings  ;  and  the  corn  patch,  with  the  great  stumps  of 
the  primeval  trees  standing  in  it.  All  around  us  the 
silent  forest  threw  its  encircling  arms,  spreading  up  the 
slopes,  higher  and  higher,  to  crown  the  crests  with  the  little 
pines  and  hemlocks  and  balsam  fir. 

There  had  been  no  meat  save  bacon  since  the  McChes- 
neys  had  left,  for  of  late  game  had  become  scarce,  and  old 
Mr.  Ripley  was  too  feeble  to  go  on  the  long  hunts.  So 
one  day,  when  Polly  Ann  was  gone  across  the  ridge,  I  took 
down  the  long  rifle  from  the  buckhorns  over  the  hearth, 
and  the  hunting  knife  and  powder-horn  and  pouch  beside 
it,  and  trudged  up  the  slope  to  a  game  trail  I  discovered. 
All  day  I  waited,  until  the  forest  light  grew  gray,  when  a 
buck  came  and  stood  over  the  water,  raising  his  head  and 
stamping  from  time  to  time.  I  took  aim  in  the  notch  of 
a  sapling,  brought  him  down,  cleaned  and  skinned  and 
dragged  him  into  the  water,  and  triumphantly  hauled  one 
of  his  hams  down  the  trail.  Polly  Ann  gave  a  cry  of  joy 
when  she  saw  me. 

"  Davy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  little  Davy,  I  reckoned  you 

67 


68  THE  CROSSING 

was  gone  away  from  us.  Gran'pa,  here  is  Davy  back,  and 
he  has  shot  a  deer." 

"  You  don't  say  ?  "  replied  Mr.  Ripley,  surveying  me 
and  my  booty  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  How  could  you,  Gran'pa  ?  "  said  Polly  Ann,  reproach- 
fully. 

"  Wai,"  said  Mr.  Ripley,  "  the  gun  was  gone,  an'  Davy. 
I  reckon  he  ain't  sich  a  little  rascal  after  all." 

Polly  Ann  and  I  went  up  the  next  day,  and  brought 
the  rest  of  the  buck  merrily  homeward.  After  that  I 
became  the  hunter  of  the  family ;  but  oftener  than  not  I 
returned  tired  and  empty-handed,  and  ravenously  hungry. 
Indeed,  our  chief  game  was  rattlesnakes,  which  we  killed 
by  the  dozens  in  the  corn  and  truck  patches. 

As  Polly  Ann  and  I  went  about  our  daily  chores,  we 
would  talk  of  Tom  McChesney.  Often  she  would  sit  idle 
at  the  hand-mill,  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  I  would  have 
given  kingdoms  for.  One  ever  memorable  morning, 
early  in  the  crisp  autumn,  a  grizzled  man  strode  up  the 
trail,  and  Polly  Ann  dropped  the  ear  of  corn  she  was 
husking  and  stood  still,  her  bosom  heaving.  It  was  Mr. 
McChesney,  Tom's  father  —  alone. 

"No,  Polly  Ann,"  he  cried,  "there  ain't  nuthin'  hap 
pened.  We've  laid  out  the  hill  towns.  But  the  Virginny 
men  wanted  a  guide,  and  Tom  volunteered,  and  so  he  ain't 
come  back  with  Rutherford's  boys." 

Polly  Ann  seized  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  looked  him 
in  the  face. 

"  Be  you  tellin'  the  truth,  Warner  McChesney  ?  "  she 
said  in  a  hard  voice. 

"  As  God  hears  me,"  said  Warner  McChesney,  solemnly. 
"He  sent  ye  this." 

He  drew  from  the  bosom  of  his  hunting  shirt  a  soiled 
piece  of  birch  bark,  scrawled  over  with  rude  writing. 
Polly  seized  it,  and  flew  into  the  house. 

The  hickories  turned  a  flaunting  yellow,  the  oaks  a 
copper-red,  the  leaves  crackled  on  the  Catawba  vines,  and 
still  Tom  McChesney  did  not  come.  The  Cherokees  were 
homeless  and  houseless  and  subdued,  —  their  hill  towns 


IN  SIGHT   OF  THE  BLUE  WALL  ONCE  MOKE      69 

burned,  their  corn  destroyed,  their  squaws  and  children 
wanderers.  One  by  one  the  men  of  the  Grape  Vine 
settlement  returned  to  save  what  they  might  of  their 
crops,  and  plough  for  the  next  year  —  Burrs,  O'Haras, 
Williamsons,  and  Winns.  Yes,  Tom  had  gone  to  guide 
the  Virginia  boys.  All  had  tales  to  tell  of  his  prowess, 
and  how  he  had  saved  Rutherford's  men  from  ambush  at 
the  risk  of  his  life.  To  all  of  which  Polly  Ann  listened 
with  conscious  pride,  and  replied  with  sallies. 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  care  if  he  never  comes  back,"  she 
would  cry.  "  If  he  likes  the  Virginny  boys  more  than 
me,  there  be  others  here  I  fancy  more  than  him." 

Whereupon  the  informant,  if  he  were  not  bound  in 
matrimony,  would  begin  to  make  eyes  at  Polly  Ann.  Or, 
if  he  were  bolder,  and  went  at  the  wooing  in  the  more  de 
monstrative  fashion  of  the  backwoods  —  Polly  Ann  had  a 
way  of  hitting  him  behind  the  ear  with  most  surprising 
effect. 

One  windy  morning  when  the  leaves  were  kiting  over 
the  valley  we  were  getting  ready  for  pounding  hominy, 
when  a  figure  appeared  on  the  trail.  Steadying  the  hood 
of  her  sunbonnet  with  her  hand,  the  girl  gazed  long  and 
earnestly,  and  a  lump  came  into  my  throat  at  the  thought 
that  the  comer  might  be  Tom  McChesney.  Polly  Ann 
sat  down  at  the  block  again  in  disgust. 

"  It's  only  Chauncey  Dike,"  she  said. 

"  Who's  Chauncey  Dike  ?  "  I  asked. 

"He  reckons  he's  a  buck,"  was  all  that  Polly  Ann 
vouchsafed. 

Chauncey  drew  near  with  a  strut.  He  had  very  long 
black  hair,  a  new  coonskin  cap  with  a  long  tassel,  and  a 
new  blue-fringed  hunting  shirt.  What  first  caught  my 
eye  was  a  couple  of  withered  Indian  scalps  that  hung  by 
their  long  locks  from  his  girdle.  Chauncey  Dike  was 
certainly  handsome. 

"  Wai,  Polly  Ann,  are  ye  tired  of  hanging  out  fer  Tom  ?  " 
he  cried,  when  a  dozen  paces  away. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  if  you  was  the  only  one  left  ter  choose," 
Polly  Ann  retorted. 


70  THE  CROSSING 

Chauncey  Dike  stopped  in  his  tracks  and  haw-hawed 
with  laughter.  But  I  could  see  that  he  was  not  very  much 
pleased. 

"  Wai,"  said  he,  "  I  'low  ye  won't  see  Tom  very  soon. 
He's  gone  to  Kaintuckee." 

"  Has  he  ?  "  said  Polly  Ann,  with  brave  indifference. 

"  He  met  a  gal  on  the  trail  —  a  blazin'  fine  gal,"  said 
Chauncey  Dike.  "She  was  goin'  to  Kaintuckee.  And 
Tom  —  he  'lowed  he'd  go  'long." 

Polly  Ann  laughed,  and  fingered  the  withered  pieces  of 
skin  at  Chauncey's  girdle. 

"Did  Tom  give  you  them  sculps?"  she  asked  inno 
cently. 

Chauncey  drew  up  stiffly. 

"Who?  Tom  McChesney  ?  I  reckon  he  ain't  got  none  to 
give.  This  here's  from  a  big  brave  at  Noewee,  whar  the 
Virginny  boys  was  surprised."  And  he  held  up  the  one 
with  the  longest  tuft.  "  He'd  liked  to  tomahawked  me 
out'n  the  briers,  but  I  thro  wed  him  fust." 

"  Shucks,"  said  Polly  Ann,  pounding  the  corn,  "  I  reckon 
you  found  him  dead." 

But  that  night,  as  we  sat  before  the  fading  red  of  the 
backlog,  the  old  man  dozing  in  his  chair,  Polly  Ann  put 
her  hand  on  mine. 

"  Davy,"  she  said  softly,  "  do  you  reckon  he's  gone  to 
Kaintuckee  ?  " 

How  could  I  tell  ? 

The  days  passed.  The  wind  grew  colder,  and  one  sub 
dued  dawn  we  awoke  to  find  that  the  pines  had  fantastic 
white  arms,  and  the  stream  ran  black  between  white  banks. 
All  that  day,  and  for  many  days  after,  the  snow  added 
silently  to  the  thickness  of  its  blanket,  and  winter  was 
upon  us.  It  was  a  long  winter  and  a  rare  one.  Polly 
Ann  sat  by  the  little  window  of  the  cabin,  spinning  the 
flax  into  linsey-woolsey.  And  she  made  a  hunting  shirt 
for  her  grandfather,  and  another  little  one  for  me  which 
she  fitted  with  careful  fingers.  But  as  she  spun,  her  wheel 
made  the  only  music  —  for  Polly  Ann  sang  no  more.  Once 
I  came  on  her  as  she  was  thrusting  the  tattered  piece  of  birch 


IN   SIGHT  OF  THE  BLUE  WALL   ONCE  MORE      71 

bark  into  her  gown,  but  she  never  spoke  to  me  more  of 
Tom  McChesney.  When,  from  time  to  time,  the  snow 
melted  on  the  hillsides,  I  sometimes  surprised  a  deer  there 
and  shot  him  with  the  heavy  rifle.  And  so  the  months 
wore  on  till  spring. 

The  buds  reddened  and  popped,  and  the  briers  grew 
pink  and  white.  Through  the  lengthening  days  we  toiled 
in  the  truck  patch,  but  always  as  I  bent  to  my  work 
Polly  Ann's  face  saddened  me  —  it  had  once  been  so 
bright,  and  it  should  have  been  so  at  this  season.  Old 
Mr.  Ripley  grew  querulous  and  savage  and  hard  to  please. 
In  the  evening,  when  my  work  was  done,  I  often  lay  on 
the  banks  of  the  stream  staring  at  the  high  ridge  (its 
ragged  edges  the  setting  sun  burned  a  molten  gold), 
and  the  thought  grew  on  me  that  I  might  make  my  way 
over  the  mountains  into  that  land  beyond,  and  find  Tom 
for  Polly  Ann.  I  even  climbed  the  watershed  to  the 
east  as  far  as  the  O'Hara  farm,  to  sound  that  big  Irish 
man  about  the  trail.  For  he  had  once  gone  to  Kentucky, 
to  come  back  with  his  scalp  and  little  besides.  O'Hara, 
with  his  brogue,  gave  me  such  a  terrifying  notion  of  the 
horrors  of  the  Wilderness  Trail  that  I  threw  up  all  thought 
of  following  it  alone,  and  so  I  resolved  to  wait  until  I 
heard  of  some  settlers  going  over  it.  But  none  went 
from  the  Grape  Vine  settlement  that  spring. 

War  was  a-waging  in  Kentucky.  The  great  Indian 
nations  were  making  a  frantic  effort  to  drive  from  their 
hunting  grounds  the  little  bands  of  settlers  there,  and 
these  were  in  sore  straits. 

So  I  waited,  and  gave  Polly  Ann  no  hint  of  my  intention. 

Sometimes  she  herself  would  slip  away  across  the  notch 
to  see  Mrs.  McChesney  and  the  children.  She  never  took 
me  with  her  on  these  journeys,  but  nearly  always  when 
she  came  back  at  nightfall  her  eyes  would  be  red,  and  I 
knew  the  two  women  had  been  weeping  together.  There 
came  a  certain  hot  Sunday  in  July  when  she  went  on  this 
errand,  and  Grandpa  Ripley  having  gone  to  spend  the 
day  at  old  man  Winn's,  I  was  left  alone.  I  remember  I 
sat  on  the  squared  log  of  the  door-step,  wondering  whether, 


T2  THE   CEOSSING 

if  I  were  to  make  my  way  to  Salisbury,  I  could  fall  in 
with  a  party  going  across  the  mountains  into  Kentucky. 
And  wondering,  likewise,  what  Polly  Ann  would  do  with 
out  me.  I  was  cleaning  the  long  rifle,  —  a  labor  I  loved, 
—  when  suddenly  I  looked  up,  startled  to  see  a  man  stand 
ing  in  front  of  me.  How  he  got  there  I  know  not.  I 
stared  at  him.  He  was  a  young  man,  very  spare  and 
very  burned,  with  bright  red  hair  and  blue  eyes  that  had 
a  kind  of  laughter  in  them,  and  yet  were  sober.  His 
buckskin  hunting  shirt  was  old  and  stained  and  frayed 
by  the  briers,  and  his  leggins  and  moccasins  were  wet 
from  fording  the  stream.  He  leaned  his  chin  on  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun. 

"  Folks  live  here,  sonny  ?  "  said  he. 

I  nodded. 

"  Whar  be  they  ?  " 

"  Out,"  said  I. 

"  Comin'  back  ?  "  he  asked. 

"To-night,"  said  I,  and  began  to  rub  the  lock. 

"  Be  they  good  folks  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Wai,"  said  he,  making  a  move  to  pass  me,  "  I  reckon 
I'll  slip  in  and  take  what  I've  a  mind  to,  and  move  on." 

Now  I  liked  the  man's  looks  very  much,  but  I  did  not 
know  what  he  would  do.  So  I  got  in  his  way  and  clutched 
the  gun.  It  was  loaded,  but  not  primed,  and  I  emptied 
a  little  powder  from  the  flask  in  the  pan.  At  that  he 
grinned. 

"  You're  a  good  boy,  sonny,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  reckon 
you  could  hit  me  if  you  shot  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  But  I  knew  I  could  scarcely  hold  the 
gun  out  straight  without  a  rest. 

"  And  do  you  reckon  I  could  hit  you  fust  ?  "  he  asked. 

At  that  I  laughed,  and  he  laughed. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

I  told  him. 

"  Who  do  you  love  best  in  all  the  world  ?  "  said  he. 

It  was  a  queer  question.  But  I  told  him  Polly  Ann 
Ripley. 


IN   SIGHT   OF  THE  BLUE  WALL  ONCE  MORE      75 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he,  after  a  pause.     "  And  what's  she  like  ?  " 

"  She's  beautiful,"  I  said  ;  "  she's  been  very  kind  to  me. 
She  took  me  home  with  her  from  the  settlements  when  I 
had  no  place  to  go.  She's  good." 

"  And  a  sharp  tongue,  I  reckon,"  said  he. 

"When  people  need  it,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he.  And  presently,  "  She's  very  merry, 
I'll  warrant." 

"  She  used  to  be,  but  that's  gone  by,"  I  said. 

"  Gone  by  !  "  said  he,  his  voice  falling,  "  is  she  sick  ?  " 

"No,"  said  I,  "she's  not  sick,  she's  sad." 

"  Sad  ?  "  said  he.  It  was  then  I  noticed  that  he  had  a 
cut  across  his  temple,  red  and  barely  healed.  "Do  you 
reckon  your  Polly  Ann  would  give  me  a  little  mite  to 
eat  ?  " 

This  time  I  jumped  up,  ran  into  the  house,  and  got  down 
some  corn-pone  and  a  leg  of  turkey.  For  that  was  the 
rule  of  the  border.  He  took  them  in  great  bites,  but 
slowly,  and  he  picked  the  bones  clean. 

"  I  had  breakfast  yesterday  morning,"  said  he,  "  about 
forty  mile  from  here." 

"  And  nothing  since  ?  "  said  I,  in  astonishment. 

"Fresh  air  and  water  and  exercise,"  said  he,  and  sat 
down  on  the  grass.  He  was  silent  for  a  long  while,  and 
so  was  I.  For  a  notion  had  struck  me,  though  I  hardly 
dared  to  give  it  voice. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  I  asked  at  last. 

He  laughed. 

"Why?"  said  he. 

"  If  you  were  going  to  Kaintuckee  —  "I  began,  and 
faltered.  For  he  stared  at  me  very  hard. 

"Kaintuckee!"  he  said.  "There's  a  country!  But 
it's  full  of  blood  and  Injun  varmints  now.  Would  you 
leave  Polly  Ann  and  go  to  Kaintuckee  ?  " 

"Are  you  going  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  reckon  I  am,"  he  said,  "as  soon  as  I  kin." 

"Willyou  take  me?"  I  asked,  breathless.  "I  — I 
won't  be  in  your  way,  and  I  can  walk  —  and  —  shoot 
game." 


74  THE  CROSSING 

At  that  he  bent  back  his  head  and  laughed,  which  made 
me  redden  with  anger.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  me 
more  soberly. 

"  You're  a  queer  little  piece,"  said  he.  "  Why  do  you 
want  to  go  thar  ?  " 

"I  want  to  find  Tom  McChesney  for  Polly  Ann,"  I 
said. 

He  turned  away  his  face. 

"  A  good-for-nothing  scamp,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  long  thought  so,"  I  said. 

He  laughed  again.  It  was  a  laugh  that  made  me  want 
to  join  him,  had  I  not  been  irritated. 

"  And  he's  a  scamp,  you  say.     And  why  ?  " 

"  Else  he  would  be  coming  back  to  Polly  Ann." 

"  Mayhap  he  couldn't,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Chauncey  Dike  said  he  went  off  with  another  girl, 
into  Kaintuckee." 

"  And  what  did  Polly  Ann  say  to  that  ?  "  the  stranger 
demanded. 

"  She  asked  Chauncey  if  Tom  McChesney  gave  him  the 
scalps  he  had  on  his  belt." 

At  that  he  laughed  in  good  earnest,  and  slapped  his 
breeches  repeatedly.  All  at  once  he  stopped,  and  stared 
up  the  ridge. 

"  Is  that  Polly  Ann  ?  "  sai'd  he. 

I  looked,  and  far  up  the  trail  was  a  speck. 

"  I  reckon  it  is,"  I  answered,  and  wondered  at  his  eye 
sight.  "She  travels  over  to  see  Tom  McChesney's  Ma 
once  in  a  while." 

He  looked  at  me  queerly. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  go  here  and  sit  down,  Davy,"  said  he, 
"so's  not  to  be  in  the  way."  And  he  walked  around  the 
corner  of  the  house. 

Polly  Ann  sauntered  down  the  trail  slowly,  as  was  her 
wont  after  such  an  occasion.  And  the  man  behind  the 
house  twice  whispered  with  extreme  caution,  "  How  near 
is  she  ?  "  before  she  came  up  the  path. 

"  Have  you  been  lonesome,  Davy  ?  "  she  said. 

"No,"  said  I,  "I've  had  a  visitor." 


IN   SIGHT   OF   THE   3LUE  WALL   ONCE  MORE      75 

"  It's  not  Chauncey  Dike  again  ?  "  she  said.  "  He 
doesn't  dare  show  his  face  here." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  Chauncey.  This  man  would  like  to  have 
seen  you,  Polly  Ann.  He  —  "  here  I  braced  myself,  —  "  he 
knew  Tom  McChesney.  He  called  him  a  good-for-noth 
ing  scamp." 

"  He  did  —  did  he  !  "  said  Polly  Ann,  very  low.  "  I 
reckon  it  was  good  for  him  I  wasn't  here." 

I  grinned. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  you  little  monkey,"  said 
Polly  Ann,  crossly.  "  Ton  my  soul,  sometimes  I  reckon 
you  are  a  witch." 

"  Polly  Ann,"  I  said,  "  did  I  ever  do  anything  but  good 
to  you?" 

She  made  a  dive  at  me,  and  before  I  could  escape  caught 
me  in  her  strong  young  arms  and  hugged  me. 

"  You're  the  best  friend  I  have,  little  Davy,"  she 
cried. 

"  I  reckon  that's  so,"  said  the  stranger,  who  had  risen 
and  was  standing  at  the  corner. 

Polly  Ann  looked  at  him  like  a  frightened  doe.  And 
as  she  stared,  uncertain  whether  to  stay  or  fly,  the  color 
surged  into  her  cheeks  and  mounted  to  her  fair  forehead. 

"  Tom  !  "  she  faltered. 

"  I've  come  back,  Polly  Ann,"  said  he.  But  his  voice 
was  not  so  clear  as  a  while  ago. 

Then  Polly  Ann  surprised  me. 

"  What  made  you  come  back  ?  "  said  she,  as  though  she 
didn't  care  a  minkskin.  Whereat  Mr.  McChesney  shifted 
his  feet. 

"  I  reckon  it  was  to  fetch  you,  Polly  Ann." 

"  I  like  that  !  "  cried  she.  "  He's  come  to  fetch  me, 
Davy."  That  was  the  first  time  in  months  her  laugh  had 
sounded  natural.  "I  heerd  you  fetched  one  gal  acrost 
the  mountains,  and  now  you  want  to  fetch  another." 

"  Polly  Ann,"  says  he,  "  there  was  a  time  when  you 
knew  a  truthful  man  from  a  liar." 

"  That  time's  past,"  retorted  she;  "  I  reckon  all  men  are 
liars.  What  are  ye  tom-foolin'  about  here  for,  Tom 


76  THE  CROSSING 

McChesney,  when  yere  Ma's  breakin'  her  heart  ?  I  won- 
der  ye  come  back  at  all." 

"  Polly  Ann,"  says  he,  very  serious,  "  I  ain't  a  boaster. 
But  when  I  think  what  I  come  through  to  git  here,  I  won 
der  that  I  come  back  at  all.  The  folks  shut  up  at  Har- 
rod's  said  it  was  sure  death  ter  cross  the  mountains  now. 
I've  walked  two  hundred  miles,  and  fed  seven  times,  and 
my  sculp's  as  near  haugin'  on  a  Red  Stick's  belt  as  I  ever 
want  it  to  be." 

"  Tom  McChesney,"  said  Polly  Ann,  with  her  hands  on 
her  hips  and  her  sunbonnet  tilted,  "that's  the  longest 
speech  you  ever  made  in  your  life." 

I  declare  I  lost  my  temper  with  Polly  Ann  then,  nor 
did  I  blame  Tom  McChesney  for  turning  on  his  heel  and 
walking  away.  But  he  had  gone  no  distance  at  all  before 
Polly  Ann,  with  three  springs,  was  at  his  shoulder. 

"  Tom  !  "  she  said  very  gently. 

He  hesitated,  stopped,  thumped  the  stock  of  his  gun  on 
the  ground,  and  wheeled.  He  looked  at  her  doubtingly, 
and  her  eyes  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Tom  McChesney,"  said  she,  "  you're  a  born  fool  with 
wimmen." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  said  he,  his  eyes  devouring  her. 

"Ay,"  said  she.  And  then,  "You  want  me  to  go  to 
Kaintuckee  with  you  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  come  for,"  he  stammered,  his  assurance 
all  run  away  again. 

"  I'll  go,"  she  answered,  so  gently  that  her  words  were 
all  but  blown  away  by  the  summer  wind.  He  laid  his 
rifle  against  a  stump  at  the  edge  of  the  corn-field,  but  she 
bounded  clear  of  him.  Then  she  stood,  panting,  her  eyes 
sparkling. 

"  I'll  go,"  she  said,  raising  her  finger,  "  I'll  go  for  one 
thing." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"That  you'll  take  Davy  along  with  us." 

This  time  Tom  had  her,  struggling  like  a  wild  thing  in 
his  arms,  and  kissing  her  black  hair  madly.  As  for  me, 
I  might  have  been  in  the  next  settlement  for  all  they 


IN   SIGHT   OF   THE  BLUE  WALL  ONCE  MORE      77 

cared.  And  then  Polly  Ann,  as  red  as  a  holly  berry, 
broke  away  from  him  and  ran  to  me,  caught  me  up,  and 
hid  her  face  in  my  shoulder.  Tom  McChesney  stood  look 
ing  at  us,  grinning,  and  that  day  I  ceased  to  hate  him. 

"  There's  no  devil  ef  I  don't  take  him,  Polly  Ann,"  said 
he.  "  Why,  he  was  a-goin'  to  Kaintuckee  ter  find  me  for 
you." 

"  What  ?  "  said  she,  raising  her  head. 

"That's  what  he  told  me  afore  he  knew  who  I  was. 
He  wanted  to  know  ef  I'd  fetch  him  thar." 

"  Little  Davy  !  "  cried  Polly  Ann. 

The  last  I  saw  of  them  that  day  they  were  going  off  up 
the  trace  towards  his  mother's,  Polly  Ann  keeping  ahead 
of  him  and  just  out  of  his  reach.  And  I  was  very,  very 
happy.  For  Tom  McChesney  had  come  back  at  last,  and 
Polly  Ann  was  herself  once  more. 

As  long  as  I  live  I  shall  never  forget  Polly  Ann's 
wedding. 

She  was  all  for  delay,  and  such  a  bunch  of  coquetry  as  I 
have  never  seen.  She  raised  one  objection  after  another ; 
but  Tom  was  a  firm  man,  and  his  late  experiences  in  the 
wilderness  had  made  him  impatient  of  trifling.  He  had 
promised  the  Kentucky  settlers,  fighting  for  their  lives  in 
their  blockhouses,  that  he  would  come  back  again.  And 
a  resolute  man  who  was  a  good  shot  was  sorely  missed  in 
the  country  in  those  days. 

It  was  not  the  thousand  dangers  and  hardships  of  the 
journey  across  the  Wilderness  Trail  that  frightened  Polly 
Ann.  Not  she.  Nor  would  she  listen  to  Tom  when  he 
implored  her  to  let  him  return  alone,  to  come  back  for  her 
when  the  redskins  had  got  over  the  first  furies  of  their 
hatred.  As  for  me,  the  thought  of  going  with  them  into 
that  promised  land  was  like  wine.  Wondering  what  the 
place  was  like,  I  could  not  sleep  of  nights. 

"  Ain't  you  afeerd  to  go,  Davy  ?  "  said  Tom  to  me. 

"  You  promised  Polly  Ann  to  take  me,"  said  I,  indig 
nantly. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  you  ain't  over  handsome.  'Twouldn't 
improve  yere  looks  to  be  bald.  They  hev  a  way  of 


78  THE  CROSSING 

takin'  yere  ha'r.  Better  stay  behind  with  Gran'pa  Ripley 
till  I  kin  fetch  ye  both." 

"  Tom,"  said  Polly  Ann,  "  you  kin  just  go  back  alone 
if  you  don't  take  Davy." 

So  one  of  the  Winn  boys  agreed  to  come  over  to  stay 
with  old  Mr.  Ripley  until  quieter  times. 

The  preparations  for  the  wedding  went  on  apace  that 
week.  I  had  not  thought  that  the  Grape  Vine  settle 
ment  held  so  many  people.  And  they  came  from  other 
settlements,  too,  for  news  spread  quickly  in  that  country, 
despite  the  distances.  Tom  McChesney  was  plainly  a 
favorite  with  the  men  who  had  marched  with  Rutherford. 
All  the  week  they  came,  loaded  with  offerings,  turkeys 
and  venison  and  pork  and  bear  meat  —  greatest  delicacy 
of  all  —  until  the  cool  spring  was  filled  for  the  feast. 
From  thirty  miles  down  the  Broad,  a  gaunt  Baptist 
preacher  on  a  fat  white  pony  arrived  the  night  before. 
He  had  been  sent  for  to  tie  the  knot. 

Polly  Ann's  wedding-day  dawned  bright  and  fair,  and 
long  before  the  sun  glistened  on  the  corn  tassels  we  were 
up  and  clearing  out  the  big  room.  The  fiddlers  came 
first  —  a  merry  lot.  And  then  the  guests  from  afar  began 
to  arrive.  Some  of  them  had  travelled  half  the  night. 
The  bridegroom's  friends  were  assembling  at  the  McChes 
ney  place.  At  last,  when  the  sun  was  over  the  stream, 
rose  such  Indian  war-whoops  and  shots  from  the  ridge 
trail  as  made  me  think  the  redskins  were  upon  us.  The 
shouts  and  hurrahs  grew  louder  and  louder,  the  quicken 
ing  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  was  heard  in  the  woods,  and 
there  burst  into  sight  of  the  assembly  by  the  truck  patch 
two  wild  figures  on  crazed  horses  charging  down  the  path 
towards  the  house.  We  scattered  to  right  and  left.  On 
they  came,  leaping  logs  and  brush  and  ditches,  until  one 
of  them  pulled  up,  yelling  madly,  at  the  very  door,  the 
foam-flecked  sides  of  his  horse  moving  with  quick  heaves. 

It  was  Chauncey  Dike,  and  he  had  won  the  race  for  the 
bottle  of  "  Black  Betty,"  —  Chauncey  Dike,  his  long,  black 
hair  shining  with  bear's  oil.  Amid  the  cheers  of  the 
bride's  friends  he  leaped  from  his  saddle,  mounted  a  stump 


IN  SIGHT   OF  THE   BLUE  WALL   ONCE  MORE      79 

and,  flapping  his  arms,  crowed  in  victory.  Before  he  had 
done  the  vanguard  of  the  groom's  friends  were  upon  us, 
pell-mell,  all  in  the  finest  of  backwoods  regalia,  —  new 
hunting  shirts,  trimmed  with  bits  of  color,  and  all  armed 
to  the  teeth  —  scalping  knife,  tomahawk,  and  all.  Nor 
had  Chauncey  Dike  forgotten  the  scalp  of  the  brave  who 
leaped  at  him  out  of  the  briers  at  Neowee. 

Polly  Ann  was  radiant  in  a  white  linen  gown,  woven 
and  sewed  by  her  own  hands.  It  was  not  such  a  gown  as 
Mrs.  Temple,  Nick's  mother,  would  have  worn,  and  yet 
she  was  to  me  an  hundred  times  more  beautiful  than  that 
lady  in  all  her  silks.  Peeping  out  from  under  it  were 
the  little  blue-beaded  moccasins  which  Tom  himself  had 
brought  across  the  mountains  in  the  bosom  of  his  hunting 
shirt.  Polly  Ann  was  radiant,  and  yet  at  times  so  raptur 
ously  shy  that  when  the  preacher  announced  himself 
ready  to  tie  the  knot  she  ran  into  the  house  and  hid  in  the 
cupboard  —  for  Polly  Ann  was  a  child  of  nature.  Thence, 
coloring  like  a  wild  rose,  she  was  dragged  by  a  boisterous 
bevy  of  girls  in  linsey-woolsey  to  the  spreading  maple  of 
the  forest  that  stood  on  the  high  bank  over  the  stream. 
The  assembly  fell  solemn,  and  not  a  sound  was  heard 
save  the  breathing  of  Nature  in  the  heyday  of  her  time. 
And  though  I  was  happy,  the  sobs  rose  in  my  throat. 
There  stood  Polly  Ann,  as  white  now  as  the  bleached  linen 
she  wore,  and  Tom  McChesney,  tall  and  spare  and  broad, 
as  strong  a  figure  of  a  man  as  ever  I  laid  eyes  on.  God 
had  truly  made  that  couple  for  wedlock  in  His  leafy  temple. 

The  deep-toned  words  of  the  preacher  in  prayer  broke 
the  stillness.  They  were  made  man  and  wife.  And  then 
began  a  day  of  merriment,  of  unrestraint,  such  as  the  back 
woods  alone  knows.  The  feast  was  spread  out  in  the 
long  grass  under  the  trees  —  sides  of  venison,  bear  meat, 
corn-pone  fresh  baked  by  Mrs.  McChesney  and  Polly  Ann 
herself,  and  all  the  vegetables  in  the  patch.  There  was 
no  stint,  either,  of  maple  beer  and  rum  and  "  Black  Betty," 
and  toasts  to  the  bride  and  groom  amidst  gusts  of  laughter 
"that  they  might  populate  Kaintuckee."  And  Polly  Ann 
would  have  it  that  I  should  sit  by  her  side  under  the  maple. 


80  THE  CROSSING 

The  fiddlers  played,  and  there  were  foot  races  and 
shooting  matches.  Ay,  and  wrestling  matches  in  the 
severe  manner  of  the  backwoods  between  the  young  bucks, 
more  than  one  of  which  might  have  ended  seriously  were 
it  not  for  the  high  humor  of  the  crowd.  Tom  McChesney 
himself  was  in  most  of  them,  a  hot  favorite.  By  a  trick 
he  had  learned  in  the  Indian  country  he  threw  Chauncey 
Dike  (no  mean  adversary)  so  hard  that  the  backwoods 
dandy  lay  for  a  moment  in  sleep.  Contrary  to  the  custom 
of  many,  Tom  was  not  in  the  habit  of  crowing  on  sucb 
occasions,  nor  did  he  even  smile  as  he  helped  Chauncey  to 
his  feet.  But  Polly  Ann  knew,  and  I  knew,  that  he  wai 
thinking  of  what  Chauncey  had  said  to  her. 

So  the  long  summer  afternoon  wore  away  into  twilight, 
and  the  sun  fell  behind  the  blue  ridges  we  were  to  cross. 
Pine  knots  were  lighted  in  the  big  room,  the  fiddlers  set 
to  again,  and  then  came  jigs  and  three  and  four  handed 
reels  that  made  the  puncheons  rattle,  —  chicken-flutter 
and  cut-the-buckle,  —  and  Polly  Ann  was  the  leader  now, 
the  young  men  flinging  the  girls  from  fireplace  to  window 
in  the  reels,  and  back  again ;  and  when,  panting  and  per 
spiring,  the  lass  was  too  tired  to  stand  longer,  she  dropped 
into  the  hospitable  lap  of  the  nearest  buck  who  was 
perched  on  the  bench  along  the  wall  awaiting  his  chance. 
For  so  it  went  in  the  backwoods  in  those  days,  and  long 
after,  and  no  harm  in  it  that  ever  I  could  see. 

Well,  suddenly,  as  if  by  concert,  the  music  stopped, 
and  a  shout  of  laughter  rang  under  the  beams  as  Polly 
Ann  flew  out  of  the  door  with  the  girls  after  her,  as  swift 
of  foot  as  she.  They  dragged  her,  a  struggling  captive, 
to  the  bride-chamber  which  made  the  other  end  of  the 
house,  and  when  they  emerged,  blushing  and  giggling  and 
subdued,  the  fun  began  with  Tom  McChesney.  He  gave 
the  young  men  a  pretty  fight  indeed,  and  long  before  they 
had  him  conquered  the  elder  guests  had  made  their  escape 
through  door  and  window. 

All  night  the  reels  and  jigs  went  on,  and  the  feasting 
and  drinking  too.  In  the  fine  rain  that  came  at  dawn 
to  hide  the  crests,  the  company  rode  wearily  homeward 
through  the  notches. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE 

Some  to  endure,  and  many  to  quail, 
Some  to  conquer,  and  many  to  fail, 
Toiling  over  the  Wilderness  Trail. 

As  long  as  I  live  I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  we 
started  on  our  journey  across  the  Blue  Wall.  Before 
the  sun  chased  away  the  filmy  veil  of  mist  from  the 
brooks  in  the  valley,  the  McChesneys,  father,  mother,  and 
children,  were  gathered  to  see  us  depart.  And  as  they 
helped  us  to  tighten  the  packsaddles  Tom  himself  had 
made  from  chosen  tree-forks,  they  did  not  cease  lamenting 
that  we  were  going  to  certain  death.  Our  scrawny  horses 
splashed  across  the  stream,  and  we  turned  to  see  a  gaunt 
and  lonely  figure  standing  apart  against  the  sun,  stern  and 
sorrowful.  We  waved  our  hands,  and  set  our  faces 
towards  Kaintuckee. 

Tom  walked  ahead,  rifle  on  shoulder,  then  Polly  Ann; 
and  lastly  I  drove  the  two  shaggy  ponies,  the  instruments 
of  husbandry  we  had  been  able  to  gather  awry  on  their 
packs,  —  a  scythe,  a  spade,  and  a  hoe.  I  triumphantly 
carried  the  axe. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  in  the  wilderness,  shut 
in  by  mountain  crags,  and  presently  Polly  Ann  forgot 
her  sorrows  in  the  perils  of  the  trace.  Choked  by  briers 
and  grapevines,  blocked  by  sliding  stones  and  earth,  it 
rose  and  rose  through  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day 
until  it  lost  itself  in  the  open  heights.  As  the  sun  was 
wearing  down  to  the  western  ridges  the  mischievous 
sorrel  mare  turned  her  pack  on  a  sapling,  and  one  of  the 
precious  bags  burst.  In  an  instant  we  were  on  our  knees 
gathering  the  golden  meal  in  our  hands.  Polly  Ann  baked 
G  81 


82  THE  CROSSING 

journeycakes  on  a  hot  stone  from  what  we  saved  under  the 
shiny  ivy  leaves,  and  scarce  had  I  spancelled  the  horses 
ere  Tom  returned  with  a  fat  turkey  he  had  shot. 

"  Was  there  ever  sech  a  wedding  journey!  "  said  Polly 
Ann,  as  we  sat  about  the  fire,  for  the  mountain  air  was 
chill.  "  And  Tom  and  Davy  as  grave  as  parsons.  Ye'd 
guess  one  of  you  was  Rutherford  himself,  and  the  other 
Mr.  Boone." 

No  wonder  he  was  grave.  I  little  realized  then  the 
task  he  had  set  himself,  to  pilot  a  woman  and  a  lad  into  a 
country  haunted  by  frenzied  savages,  when  single  men 
feared  to  go  this  season.  But  now  he  smiled,  and  patted 
Polly  Ann's  brown  hand. 

"  It's  one  of  yer  own  choosing,  lass,"  said  he. 

"Of  my  own  choosing!"  cried  she.  "Come,  Davy, 
we'll  go  back  to  Grandpa." 

Tom  grinned. 

"  I  reckon  the  redskins  won't  bother  us  till  we  git  by 
the  Nollichucky  and  Watauga  settlements,"  he  said. 

"  The  redskins!  "  said  Polly  Ann,  indignant;  "I  reckon 
if  one  of  'em  did  git  me  he'd  kiss  me  once  in  a  while." 

Whereupon  Tom,  looking  more  sheepish  still,  tried  to 
kiss  her,  and  failed  ignominiously,  for  she  vanished  into 
the  dark  woods. 

"  If  a  redskin  got  you  here,"  said  Tom,  when  she  had 
slipped  back,  "he'd  fetch  you  to  Nick-a-jack  Cave." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Where  all  the  red  and  white  and  yellow  scalawags  over 
the  mountains  is  gathered,"  he  answered.  And  he  told  of 
a  deep  gorge  between  towering  mountains  where  a  great 
river  cried  angrily,  of  a  black  cave  out  of  which  a  black 
stream  ran,  where  a  man  could  paddle  a  dugout  for  miles 
into  the  rock.  The  river  was  the  Tennessee,  and  the 
place  the  resort  of  the  Chickamauga  bandits,  pirates  of 
the  mountains,  outcasts  of  all  nations.  And  Dragging 
Canoe  was  their  chief. 

It  was  on  the  whole  a  merry  journey,  the  first  part  of 
it,  if  a  rough  one.  Often  Polly  Ann  would  draw  me  to 
her  and  whisper :  "  We'll  hold  out,  Davy.  He'll  never 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  83 

know."  When  the  truth  was  that  the  big  fellow  was  going 
at  half  his  pace  on  our  account.  He  told  us  there  was  no 
fear  of  redskins  here,  yet,  when  the  scream  of  a  painter  or 
the  hoot  of  an  owl  stirred  me  from  my  exhausted  slumber, 
I  caught  sight  of  him  with  his  back  to  a  tree,  staring  into 
the  forest,  his  rifle  at  his  side.  The  day  was  dawning. 

"  Turn  about's  fair,"  I  expostulated. 

"  Ye'll  need  yere  sleep,  Davy,"  said  he,  "or  ye'll  never 
grow  any  bigger." 

"  I  thought  Kaintuckee  was  to  the  west,"  I  said,  "  and 
you're  making  north."  For  I  had  observed  him  day  after 
day.  We  had  left  the  trails.  Sometimes  he  climbed  a 
tree,  and  again  he  sent  me  to  the  upper  branches,  whence 
I  surveyed  a  sea  of  tree-tops  waving  in  the  wind,  and 
looked  onward  to  where  a  green  velvet  hollow  lay  nestling 
on  the  western  side  of  a  saddle-backed  ridge. 

"North!"  said  Tom  to  Polly  Ann,  laughing.  "The 
little  devil  will  beat  me  at  woodcraft  soon.  Ay,  north, 
Davy.  I'm  hunting  for  the  Nollichucky  Trace  that  leads 
to  the  Watauga  settlement." 

It  was  wonderful  to  me  how  he  chose  his  way  through 
the  mountains.  Once  in  a  while  we  caught  sight  of  a 
yellow  blaze  in  a  tree,  made  by  himself  scarce  a  month 
gone,  when  he  came  southward  alone  to  fetch  Polly  Ann. 
Again,  the  tired  roan  shied  back  from  the  bleached  bones 
of  a  traveller,  picked  clean  by  wolves.  At  sundown,  when 
we  loosed  our  exhausted  horses  to  graze  on  the  wet  grass 
by  the  streams,  Tom  would  go  off  to  look  for  a  deer  or 
turkey,  and  often  not  come  back  to  us  until  long  after 
darkness  had  fallen. 

"  Davy'll  take  care  of  you,  Polly  Ann,"  he  would  say 
as  he  left  us. 

And  she  would  smile  at  him  bravely  and  say,  "  I  reckon 
I  kin  look  out  for  Davy  awhile  yet." 

But  when  he  was  gone,  and  the  crooning  stillness  set  in, 
broken  only  by  the  many  sounds  of  the  night,  we  would 
sit  huddled  together  by  the  fire.  It  was  dread  for  him 
she  felt,  not  for  herself.  And  in  both  our  minds  rose 
red  images  of  hideous  foes  skulking  behind  his  brave 


84  THE   CROSSING- 

form  as  lie  trod  the  forest  floor.  Polly  Ann  was  not  the 
woman  to  whimper. 

And  yet  I  have  but  dim  recollections  of  this  journey. 
It  was  no  hardship  to  a  lad  brought  up  in  woodcraft.  Fear 
of  the  Indians,  like  a  dog  shivering  with  the  cold,  was  a 
deadened  pain  on  the  border. 

Strangely  enough  it  was  I  who  chanced  upon  the  Nol- 
lichucky  Trace,  which  follows  the  meaude rings  of  that 
river  northward  through  the  great  Smoky  Mountains. 
It  was  made  long  ago  by  the  Southern  Indians  as  they 
threaded  their  way  to  the  Hunting  Lands  of  Kaintuckee, 
and  shared  now  by  Indian  traders.  The  path  was  redolent 
with  odors,  and  bright  with  mountain  shrubs  and  flowers, — 
the  pink  laurel  bush,  the  shining  rhododendron,  and  the 
grape  and  plum  and  wild  crab.  The  clear  notes  of  the 
mountain  birds  were  in  our  ears  by  day,  and  the  music  of 
the  water  falling  over  the  ledges,  mingled  with  that  of 
the  leaves  rustling  in  the  wind,  lulled  us  to  sleep  at  night. 
High  above  us,  as  we  descended,  the  gap,  from  naked  crag 
to  timber-covered  ridge,  was  spanned  by  the  eagle's  flight. 
And  virgin  valleys,  where  future  generations  were  to  be 
born,  spread  out  and  narrowed  again,  —  valleys  with  a 
deep  carpet  of  cane  and  grass,  where  the  deer  and  elk  and 
bear  fed  unmolested. 

It  was  perchance  the  next  evening  that  my  eyes  fell 
upon  a  sight  which  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  my  boy 
ish  memories.  The  trail  slipped  to  the  edge  of  a  preci 
pice,  and  at  our  feet  the  valley  widened.  Planted  amidst 
giant  trees,  on  a  shining  green  lawn  that  ran  down  to  the 
racing  Nollichucky  was  the  strangest  house  it  has  ever 
been  my  lot  to  see  —  of  no  shape,  of  huge  size,  and  built 
of  logs,  one  wing  hitched  to  another  by  "  dog  alleys " 
(as  we  called  them)  ;  and  from  its  wide  stone  chimneys 
the  pearly  smoke  rose  upward  in  the  still  air  through  the 
poplar  branches.  Beyond  it  a  setting  sun  gilded  the  corn 
fields,  and  horses  and  cattle  dotted  the  pastures.  We  stood 
for  a  while  staring  at  this  oasis  in  the  wilderness,  and  to 
my  boyish  fancy  it  was  a  fitting  introduction  to  a  delec 
table  land. 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  85 

44  Glory  be  to  heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann. 

44  It's  Nollichucky  Jack's  house,"  said  Tom. 

44  And  who  may  he  be  ?  "  said  she. 

44  Who  may  he  be  !  "  cried  Tom  ;  "  Captain  John  Sevier, 
king  of  the  border,  and  I  reckon  the  best  man  to  sweep 
out  redskins  in  the  Watauga  settlements." 

44  Do  you  know  him?  "  said  she. 

44 1  was  chose  as  one  of  his  scouts  when  we  fired  the  Chero 
kee  hill  towns  last  summer,"  said  Tom,  with  pride.  "  Thar 
was  blood  and  thunder  for  ye  !  We  went  down  the  Great 
War-path  which  lies  below  us,  and  when  we  was  through 
there  wasn't  a  corn-shuck  or  a  wigwam  or  a  war  post  left. 
We  didn't  harm  the  squaws  nor  the  children,  but  there 
warn't  no  prisoners  took.  When  Nollichucky  Jack  strikes 
I  reckon  it's  more  like  a  thunderbolt  nor  anything  else." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  at  home,  Tom?"  I  asked,  fearful 
that  I  should  not  see  this  celebrated  person. 

44  We'll  soon  1'arn,"  said  he,  as  we  descended.  "  I  heerd 
he  was  agoin'  to  punish  them  Chickamauga  robbers  by 
Nick-a-jack." 

Just  then  we  heard  a  prodigious  barking,  and  a  dozen 
hounds  came  charging  down  the  path  at  our  horses'  legs, 
the  roan  shying  into  the  truck  patch.  A  man's  voice, 
deep,  clear,  compelling,  was  heard  calling :  — • 

"Vi!  Flora!  Ripper!" 

I  saw  him  coming  from  the  porch  of  the  house,  a  tall, 
slim  figure  in  a  hunting  shirt — that  fitted  to  perfection — 
and  cavalry  boots.  His  face,  his  carriage,  his  quick  move 
ment  and  stride  filled  my  notion  of  a  hero,  and  my  instinct 
told  me  he  was  a  gentleman  born. 

44  Why,  bless  my  soul,  it's  Tom  McChesney !  "  he  cried, 
ten  paces  away,  while  Tom  grinned  with  pleasure  at  the 
recognition.  44  But  what  have  you  here  ?  " 

44  A  wife,"  said  Tom,  standing  on  one  foot. 

Captain  Sevier  fixed  his  dark  blue  eyes  on  Polly  Ann 
with  approbation,  and  he  bowed  to  her  very  gracefully. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Ma'am,  may  I  ask?"  he  said. 

44  To  Kaintuckee,"  said  Polly  Ann. 

44  To  Kaintuckee  I  "   cried   Captain  Sevier,  turning  to 


86  THE  CROSSING 

Tom.  "Egad,  then,  you've  no  right  to  a  wife,  —  and  to 
such  a  wife,"  and  he  glanced  again  at  Polly  Ann.  "  Why, 
McChesney,  you  never  struck  me  as  a  rash  man.  Have 
you  lost  your  senses,  to  take  a  woman  into  Kentucky  this 
year  ?  " 

"  So  the  forts  be  still  in  trouble  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  Trouble  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Sevier,  with  a  quick  fling  of  his 
whip  at  an  unruly  hound,  "  Harrodstovvn,  Boonesboro, 
Logan's  Fort  at  St.  Asaph's,  —  they  don't  dare  stick  their 
noses  outside  the  stockades.  The  Indians  havs  swarmed 
into  Kentucky  like  red  ants,  I  tell  you.  Ten  days  ago, 
when  I  was  in  the  Holston  settlements,  Major  Ben  Logan 
came  in.  His  fort  had  been  shut  up  since  May,  they  were 
out  of  powder  and  lead,  and  somebody  had  to  come.  How 
did  he  come?  As  the  wolf  lopes,  nay,  as  the  crow  flies 
over  crag  and  ford,  Cumberland,  Clinch,  and  all,  forty 
miles  a  day  for  five  days,  and  never  saw  a  trace  —  for  the 
war  parties  were  watching  the  Wilderness  Road."  And 
he  swung  again  towards  Polly  Ann.  "  You'll  not  go  to 
Kaintuckee,  ma'am  ;  you'll  stay  here  with  us  until  the  red 
skins  are  beaten  off  there.  He  may  go  if  he  likes." 

"  I  reckon  we  didn't  come  this  far  to  give  out,  Captain 
Sevier,"  said  she. 

"  You  don't  look  to  be  the  kind  to  give  out,  Mrs. 
McChesney,"  said  he.  "And  yet  it  may  not  be  a  matter 
of  giving  out,"  he  added  more  soberly.  This  mixture  of 
heartiness  and  gravity  seemed  to  sit  well  on  him.  "  Surely 
you  have  been  enterprising,  Tom.  Where  in  the  name 
of  the  Continental  Congress  did  you  get  the  lad  ?  " 

"  I  married  him  along  with  Polly  Ann,"  said  Tom. 
"That  was  the  bargain,  and  I  reckon  he  was  worth  it." 

"I'd  take  a  dozen  to  get  her,"  declared  Mr.  Sevier,  while 
Polly  Ann  blushed.  "  Well,  well,  supper's  waiting  us, 
and  cider  and  applejack,  for  we  don't  get  a  wedding 
party  every  day.  Some  gentlemen  are  here  whose  word 
may  have  more  weight  and  whose  attractions  may  be 
greater  than  mine." 

He  whistled  to  a  negro  lad,  who  took  our  horses,  and 
led  us  through  the  court-yard  and  the  house  to  the  lawn 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TEACE  87 

at  the  far  side  of  it.  A  rude  table  was  set  there  under 
a  great  tree,  and  around  it  three  gentlemen  were  talking. 
My  memory  of  all  of  them  is  more  vivid  than  it  might 
be  were  their  names  not  household  words  in  the  Western 
country.  Captain  Sevier  startled  them. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  if  you  have  despatches  for 
Kaintuckee,  I  pray  you  get  them  ready  over  night." 

They  looked  up  at  him,  one  sternly,  the  other  two 
gravely. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  Sevier?"  said  the  stern 
one. 

"  That  my  friend,  Tom  McChesney,  is  going  there  with 
his  wife,  unless  we  can  stop  him,"  said  Sevier. 

"  Stop  him !  "  thundered  the  stern  gentleman,  kicking 
back  his  chair  and  straightening  up  to  what  seemed  to 
me  a  colossal  height.  I  stared  at  him,  boylike.  He 
had  long,  iron -gray  hair  and  a  creased,  fleshy  face  and 
sunken  eyes.  He  looked  as  if  he  might  stop  anybody 
as  he  turned  upon  Tom.  "  Who  the  devil  is  this  Tom 
McChesney?"  he  demanded. 

Sevier  laughed. 

"  The  best  scout  I  ever  laid  eyes  on,"  said  he.  "  A 
deadly  man  with  a  Deckard,  an  unerring  man  at  choos 
ing  a  wife  "  (and  he  bowed  to  the  reddening  Polly  Ann), 
"and  a  fool  to  run  the  risk  of  losing  her." 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  iron  gentleman,  who  was  the 
famous  Captain  Evan  Shelby  of  King's  Meadows,  "he'll 
leave  her  here  in  our  settlements  while  he  helps  us  fight 
Dragging  Canoe  and  his  Chickamauga  pirates." 

"  If  he  leaves  me,  "  said  Polly  Ann,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"  that's  an  end  to  the  bargain.  He'll  never  find  me  more." 

Captain  Sevier  laughed  again. 

"There's  spirit  for  you,"  he  cried,  slapping  his  whip 
against  his  boot. 

At  this  another  gentleman  stood  up,  a  younger  counter 
part  of  the  first,  only  he  towered  higher  and  his  shoulders 
were  broader.  He  had  a  big-featured  face,  and  pleasant 
eyes — that  twinkled  now — sunken  in,  with  fleshy  creases 
at  the  corners. 


88  THE   CROSSING 

"  Tom  McChesney,"  said  he,  "  don't  mind  my  father. 
If  any  man  besides  Logan  can  get  inside  the  forts,  you 
can.  Do  you  remember  me?" 

"  I  reckon  I  do,  Mr.  Isaac  Shelby,"  said  Tom,  putting 
a  big  hand  into  Mr.  Shelby's  bigger  one.  "  I  reckon  I 
won't  soon  forget  how  you  stepped  out  of  ranks  and 
tuk  command  when  the  boys  was  runuin',  and  turned 
the  tide." 

He  looked  like  the  man  to  step  out  of  ranks  and  take 
command. 

"  Pish  !  "  said  Mr.  Isaac  Shelby,  blushing  like  a  girl  ; 
"  where  would  I  have  been  if  you  and  Moore  and  Findley 
and  the  rest  hadn't  stood  'em  off  till  we  turned  round  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  third  gentleman  had  drawn  my  atten 
tion.  Not  by  anything  he  said,  for  he  remained  silent, 
sitting  with  his  dark  brown  head  bent  forward,  quietly 
gazing  at  the  scene  from  under  his  brows.  The  instant 
he  spoke  they  turned  towards  him.  He  was  perhaps  forty, 
and  broad-shouldered,  not  so  tall  as  Mr.  Sevier. 

"  Why  do  you  go  to  Kaintuckee,  McChesney  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  give  my  word  to  Mr.  Harrod  and  Mr.  Clark  to  come 
back,  Mr.  Robertson,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  the  wife  ?  If  you  take  her,  you  run  a  great  risk 
of  losing  her." 

"And  if  he  leaves  me,"  said  Polly  Ann,  flinging  her 
head,  "he  will  lose  me  sure." 

The  others  laughed,  but  Mr.  Robertson  merely  smiled. 

"  Faith,"  cried  Captain  Sevier,  "  if  those  I  met  coming 
back  helter-skelter  over  the  Wilderness  Trace  had  been  of 
that  stripe,  they'd-have  more  men  in  the  forts  now." 

With  that  the  Captain  called  for  supper  to  be  served 
where  we  sat.  He  was  a  widower,  with  lads  somewhere 
near  my  own  age,  and  I  recall  being  shown  about  the  place 
by  them.  And  later,  when  the  fireflies  glowed  and  the 
Nollichucky  sang  in  the  darkness,  we  listened  to  the  talk 
of  the  war  of  the  year  gone  by.  I  needed  not  to  be  told 
that  before  me  were  the  renowned  leaders  of  the  Watauga 
settlements.  My  hero  worship  cried  it  aloud  within  me. 
These  captains  dwelt  on  the  border-land  of  mystery,  con- 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  89 

quered  the  wilderness,  and  drove  before  them  its  savage 
tribes  by  their  might.  When  they  spoke  of  the  Cherokees 
and  told  how  that  same  Stuart  —  the  companion  of 
Cameron  —  was  urging  them  to  war  against  our  people,  a 
fierce  anger  blazed  within  me.  For  the  Cherokees  had 
killed  my  father. 

I  remember  the  men,  —  scarcely  what  they  said  :  Evan 
Shelby's  words,  like  heavy  blows  on  an  anvil ;  Isaac 
Shelby's,  none  the  less  forceful ;  James  Robertson 
compelling  his  listeners  by  some  strange  power.  He 
was  perchance  the  strongest  man  there,  though  none  of 
us  guessed,  after  ruling  that  region,  that  he  was  to  repeat 
untold  hardships  to  found  and  rear  another  settlement 
farther  west.  But  best  I  loved  to  hear  Captain  Sevier, 
whose  talk  lacked  not  force,  but  had  a  daring,  a  humor, 
a  lightness  of  touch,  that  seemed  more  in  keeping  with 
that  world  I  had  left  behind  me  in  Charlestown.  Him  I 
loved,  and  at  length  I  solved  the  puzzle.  To  me  he  was 
Nick  Temple  grown  to  manhood. 

I  slept  in  the  room  with  Captain  Sevier's  boys,  and  one 
window  of  it  was  of  paper  smeared  with  bear's  grease, 
through  which  the  sunlight  came  all  bleared  and  yellow 
in  the  morning.  I  had  a  boy's  interest  in  affairs,  and  I 
remember  being  told  that  the  gentlemen  were  met  here 
to  discuss  the  treaty  between  themselves  and  the  great 
Oconostota,  chief  of  the  Cherokees,  and  also  to  consider 
the  policy  of  punishing  once  for  all  Dragging  Canoe  and 
his  bandits  at  Chickamauga. 

As  we  sat  at  breakfast  under  the  trees,  these  gentlemen 
generously  dropped  their  own  business  to  counsel  Tom, 
and  I  observed  with  pride  that  he  had  gained  their  regard 
during  the  last  year's  war.  Shelby's  threats  and  Robert 
son's  warnings  and  Sevier's  exhortations  having  no  effect 
upon  his  determination  to  proceed  to  Kentucky,  they  began 
to  advise  him  how  to  go,  and  he  sat  silent  while  they 
talked.  And  finally,  when  they  asked  him,  he  spoke  of 
making  through  Carter's  Valley  for  Cumberland  Gap  and 
the  Wilderness  Trail. 

"  Egad,"  cried  Captain  Sevier,  "  I  have  so  many  times 


90  THE   CEOSSING 

found  the  boldest  plan  the  safest  that  I  have  become  a 
coward  that  way.  What  do  you  say  to  it,  Mr.  Robertson  ?  " 

Mr.  Robertson  leaned  his  square  shoulders  over  the 
table. 

"  He  may  fall  in  with  a  party  going  over,"  he  answered, 
without  looking  up. 

Polly  Ann  looked  at  Tom  as  if  to  say  that  the  whole 
Continental  Army  could  not  give  her  as  much  protection. 

We  left  that  hospitable  place  about  nine  o'clock,  Mr. 
Robertson  having  written  a  letter  to  Colonel  Daniel 
Boone,  —  shut  up  in  the  fort  at  Boonesboro,  —  should  we 
be  so  fortunate  as  to  reach  Kaintuckee  :  and  another  to  a 
young  gentleman  by  the  name  of  George  Rogers  Clark, 
apparently  a  leader  there.  Captain  Sevier  bowed  over 
Polly  Ann's  hand  as  if  she  were  a  great  lady,  and  wished 
her  a  happy  honeymoon,  and  me  he  patted  on  the  head 
and  called  a  brave  lad.  And  soon  we  had  passed  beyond 
the  corn-field  into  the  Wilderness  again. 

Our  way  was  down  the  Nollichucky,  past  the  great  bend 
of  it  below  Lick  Creek,  and  so  to  the  Great  War-path,  the 
trail  by  which  countless  parties  of  red  marauders  had 
travelled  north  and  south.  It  led,  indeed,  northeast  be 
tween  the  mountain  ranges.  Although  we  kept  a  watch 
by  day  and  night,  we  saw  no  sign  of  Dragging  Canoe  or 
his  men,  and  at  length  we  forded  the  Holston  and  came  to 
the  scattered  settlement  in  Carter's  Valley. 

I  have  since  racked  my  brain  to  remember  at  whose 
cabin  we  stopped  there.  He  was  a  rough  backwoodsman 
with  a  wife  and  a  horde  of  children.  But  I  recall  that  a 
great  rain  came  out  of  the  mountains  and  down  the  valley. 
We  were  counting  over  the  powder  gourds  in  our  packs, 
when  there  burst  in  at  the  door  as  wild  a  man  as  has  ever 
been  my  lot  to  see.  His  brown  beard  was  grown  like  a 
bramble  patch,  his  eye  had  a  violet  light,  and  his  hunting 
shirt  was  in  tatters.  He  was  thin  to  gauntness,  ate  rav 
enously  of  the  food  that  was  set  before  him,  and  throwing 
off  his  soaked  moccasins,  he  spread  his  scalded  feet  to  the 
blaze,  and  the  steaming  odor  of  drying  leather  filled  the 
room. 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  91 

"  Whar  be  ye  from?  "  asked  Tom. 

For  answer  the  man  bared  his  arm,  then  his  shoulder, 
and  two  angry  scars,  long  and  red,  revealed  themselves, 
and  around  his  wrists  were  deep  gouges  where  he  had  been 
bound. 

"  They  killed  Sue,"  he  cried,  "  sculped  her  afore  my 
very  eyes.  And  they  chopped  my  boy  outen  the  hickory 
withes  and  carried  him  to  the  Creek  Nation.  At  a  place 
where  there  was  a  standin'  stone  I  broke  loose  from  three 
of  'em  and  come  here  over  the  mountains,  and  I  ain't  had 
nothin',  stranger,  but  berries  and  chainey  brier-root  for 
ten  days.  God  damn  'em !  "  he  cried,  standing  up  and 
tottering  with  the  pain  in  his  feet,  "  if  I  can  get  a 
Deckard  — " 

"  Will  you  go  back  ?"  said  Tom.     . 

"  Go  back !  "  he  shouted,  "  I'll  go  back  and  fight  'em 
while  I  have  blood  in  my  body." 

He  fell  into  a  bunk,  but  his  sorrow  haunted  him  even  in 
his  troubled  sleep,  and  his  moans  awed  us  as  we  listened. 
The  next  day  he  told  us  his  story  with  more  calmness.  It 
was  horrible  indeed,  and  might  well  have  frightened  a  less 
courageous  woman  than  Polly  Ann.  Imploring  her  not 
to  go,  he  became  wild  again,  and  brought  tears  to  her  eyes 
when  he  spoke  of  his  own  wife.  "  They  tomahawked  her, 
ma'am,  because  she  could  not  walk,  and  the  baby  beside 
her,  and  I  standing  by  with  my  arms  tied." 

As  long  as  I  live  I"  shall  never  forget  that  scene,  and 
how  Tom  pleaded  with  Polly  Ann  to  stay  behind,  but  she 
would  not  listen  to  him. 

"  You're  going,  Tom  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  turning  away,  "  I  gave  'em  my 
word." 

"  And  your  word  to  me  ?  "  said  Polly  Ann. 

He  did  not  answer. 

We  fixed  on -a  Saturday  to  start,  to  give  the  horses  time 
to  rest,  and  in  the  hope  that  we  might  hear  of  some  relief 
party  going  over  the  Gap.  On  Thursday  Tom  made  a 
trip  to  the  store  in  the  valley,  and  came  back  with  a 
Deckard  rifle  he  had  bought  for  the  stranger,  whose  name 


92  THE   CEOSSING 

was  Weldon.  There  was  no  news  from  Kaintuckee,  but 
the  Carter's  Valley  settlers  seemed  to  think  that  matters 
were  better  there.  It  was  that  same  night,  I  believe,  that 
two  men  arrived  from  Fort  Chiswell.  One,  whose  name 
was  Cutcheon,  was  a  little  man  with  a  short  forehead  and 
a  bad  eye,  and  he  wore  a  weather-beaten  blue  coat  of  mili 
tary  cut.  The  second  was  a  big,  light-colored,  fleshy 
man,  and  a  loud  talker.  He  wore  a  hunting  shirt  and 
leggings.  They  were  both  the  worse  for  rum  they  had 
had  on  the  road,  the  big  man  talking  very  loud  and 
boastfully. 

"  Afeard  to  go  to  Kaintuckee  !  "  said  he.  "  I've  met  a 
parcel  o'  cowards  on  the  road,  turned  back.  There  ain't 
nothin'  to  be  afeard  of,  eh,  stranger  ?  "  he  added,  to  Tom, 
who  paid  no  manner  of  attention  to  him.  The  small  man 
scarce  opened  his  mouth,  but  sat  with  his  head  bowed  for 
ward  on  his  breast  when  he  was  not  drinking.  We  passed 
a  dismal,  crowded  night  in  the  room  with  such  com 
panions.  When  they  heard  that  we  were  to  go  over  the 
mountains,  nothing  would  satisfy  the  big  man  but  to  go 
with  us. 

"  Come,  stranger,"  said  he  to  Tom,  "  two  good  rifles  such 
as  we  is  ain't  to  be  throwed  away." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  over  ?  "  asked  Tom.  "  Be  ye  a 
Tory?"  he  demanded  suspiciously. 

"  Why  do  .  you  go  over  ?  "  retorted  Riley,  for  that 
was  his  name.  "  I  reckon  I'm  no  more  of  a  Tory  than 
you." 

"  Whar  did  ye  come  from  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  Chiswell's  mines,  taking  out  lead  for  the  army  o' 
Congress.  But  there  ain't  excitement  enough  in  it." 

"  And  you?  "  said  Tom,  turning  to  Cutcheon  and  eying 
his  military  coat. 

"  I  got  tired  of  their  damned  discipline,"  the  man 
answered  surlily.  He  was  a  deserter. 

"  Look  you,"  said  Tom,  sternly,  "  if  you  come,  what  I 
say  is  law." 

Such  was  the  sacrifice  we  were  put  to  by  our  need  of 
company.  But  in  those  days  a  man  was  a  man,  and  scarce 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TEACE  93 

enough  on  the  Wilderness  Trail  in  that  year  of  '77.  So 
we  started  away  from  Carter's  Valley  on  a  bright  Satur 
day  morning,  the  grass  glistening  after  a  week's  rain,  the 
road  sodden,  and  the  smell  of  the  summer  earth  heavy. 
Tom  and  Weldon  walked  ahead,  driving  the  two  horses, 
followed  by  Cutcheon,  his  head  dropped  between  his 
shoulders.  The  big  man,  Riley,  regaled  Polly  Ann. 

"  My  pluck  is,"  said  he,  "  my  pluck  is  to  give  a  redskin 
no  chance.  Shoot  'em  down  like  hogs.  It  takes  a  good 
un  to  stalk  me,  Ma'am.  Up  on  the  Kanawha  I've  had 
hand-to-hand  fights  with  'em,  and  made  'em  cry  quits." 

"  Law  !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann,  nudging  me,  "  it  was  a 
lucky  thing  we  run  into  you  in  the  valley." 

But  presently  we  left  the  road  and  took  a  mountain 
trail, —  as  stiff  a  climb  as  we  had  yet  had.  Polly  Ann  went 
up  it  like  a  bird,  talking  all  the  while  to  Riley,  who  blew 
like  a  bellows.  For  once  he  was  silent. 

We  spent  two,  perchance  three,  days  climbing  and 
descending  and  fording.  At  night  Tom  would  suffer 
none  to  watch  save  Weldon  and  himself,  not  trusting 
Riley  or  Cutcheon.  And  the  rascals  were  well  content 
to  sleep.  At  length  we  came  to  a  cabin  on  a  creek,  the 
corn  between  the  stumps  around  it  choked  with  weeds, 
and  no  sign  of  smoke  in  the  chimney.  Behind  it  slanted 
up,  in  giant  steps,  a  forest-clad  hill  of  a  thousand  feet, 
and  in  front  of  it  the  stream  was  dammed  and  lined  with 
cane. 

"  Who  keeps  house?  "  cried  Tom,  at  the  threshold. 

He  pushed  back  the  door,  fashioned  in  one  great  slab 
from  a  forest  tree.  His  welcome  was  an  angry  whir,  and 
a  huge  yellow  rattler  lay  coiled  within,  his  head  reared  to 
strike.  Polly  Ann  leaned  back. 

"Mercy,"  she  cried,  "that's  a  bad  sign." 

But  Tom  killed  the  snake,  and  we  made  ready  to  use 
the  cabin  that  night  and  the  next  day.  For  the  horses 
were  to  be  rested  and  meat  was  to  be  got,  as  we  could 
not  use  our  guns  so  freely  on  the  far  side  of  Cumberland 
Gap.  In  the  morning,  before  he  and  Weldon  left,  Tom 
took  me  around  the  end  of  the  cabin. 


94  THE  CKOSSING 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  trust  these  rascals.  Kin  you 
shoot  a  pistol?" 

I  reckoned  I  could. 

He  had  taken  one  out  of  the  pack  he  had  got  from 
Captain  Sevier  and  pushed  it  between  the  logs  where  the 
clay  had  fallen  out.  "If  they  try  anything,"  said  he, 
"shoot  'em.  And  don't  be  afeard  of  killing  'em."  He 
patted  me  on  the  back,  and  went  off  up  the  slope  with 
Weldon.  Polly  Ann  and  I  stood  watching  them  until 
they  were  out  of  sight. 

About  eleven  o'clock  Riley  and  Cutcheon  moved  off 
to  the  edge  of  a  cane-brake  near  the  water,  and  sat  there 
for  a  while,  talking  in  low  tones.  The  horses  were  belled 
and  span  celled  near  by,  feeding  on  the  cane  and  wild 
grass,  and  Polly  Ann  was  cooking  journey-cakes  on  a 
stone. 

"  What  makes  you  so  sober,  Davy  ?  "  she  said. 

I  didn't  answer. 

"  Davy,"  she  cried,  "  be  happy  while  you're  young.  'Tis 
a  fine  day,  and  Kaintuckee's  over  yonder."  She  picked 
up  her  skirts  and  sang  :  — 

"  First  upon  the  heeltap, 
Then  upon  the  toe." 

The  men  by  the  cane-brake  turned  and  came  towards 
us. 

"  Ye're  happy  to-day,  Mis'  McChesney,"  said  Riley. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  "  said  Polly  Ann  ;  "  we're  all  a-goin' 
to  Kaintuckee." 

"  We're  a-goin'  back  to  Cyarter's  Valley,"  said  Riley,  in 
his  blustering  way.  "  This  here  ain't  as  excitin'  as  I 
thought.  I  reckon  there  ain't  no  redskins  nohow." 

"  What !  "  cried  Polly  Ann,  in  loud  scorn,  "  ye're  a-goin' 
to  desert?  There'll  be  redskins  enough  by  and  by,  I'll 
warrant  ye." 

"  How'd  you  like  to  come  along  of  us,"  says  Riley ; 
"that  ain't  any  place  for  wimmen,  over  yonder." 

"  Along  of  you  !  "  cried  Polly  Ann,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  Do  you  hear  that,  Davy  ?  " 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  95 

I  did.  Meanwhile  the  man  Cutcheon  was  slowly  walk 
ing  towards  her.  It  took  scarce  a  second  for  me  to  make 
up  my  mind.  I  slipped  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
seized  the  pistol,  primed  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  came 
back  to  behold  Polly  Ann,  with  flaming  cheeks,  facing 
them.  They  did  not  so  much  as  glance  at  me.  Riley 
held  a  little  back  of  the  two,  being  the  coward.  But 
Cutcheon  stood  ready,  like  a  wolf. 

I  did  not  wait  for  him  to  spring,  but,  taking  the  best  aim 
I  could  with  my  two  hands,  fired.  With  a  curse  that  echoed 
in  the  crags,  he  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  forward, 
writhing,  on  the  turf. 

"  Run  for  the  cabin,  Polly  Ann,"  I  shouted,  "  and  bar 
the  door." 

There  was  no  need.  For  an  instant  Riley  wavered,  and 
then  fled  to  the  cane. 

Polly  Ann  and  I  went  to  the  man  on  the  ground,  and 
turned  him  over.  His  eyes  slid  upwards.  There  was  a 
bloody  froth  on  his  lips. 

"  Davy  !  "  cried  she,  awestricken,  "  Davy,  ye've  killed 
him  !  " 

I  grew  dizzy  and  sick  at  the  thought,  but  she  caught 
me  and  held  jne  to  her.  Presently  we  sat  down  on  the 
door  log,  gazing  at  the  corpse.  Then  I  began  to  reflect, 
and  took  out  my  powder  gourd  and  loaded  the  pistol. 

"  What  are  ye  a-doing  ?  "  she  said. 

"  In  case  the  other  one  comes  back,"  said  I. 

"  Pooh,"  said  Polly  Ann,  "  he'll  not  come  back."  Which 
was  true.  I  have  never  laid  eyes  on  Riley  to  this  day. 

"  I  reckon  we'd  better  fetch  it  out  of  the  sun,"  said  she, 
after  a  while.  And  so  we  dragged  it  under  an  oak,  cov 
ered  the  face,  and  left  it. 

He  was  the  first  man  I  ever  killed,  and  the  business  by 
no  means  came  natural  to  me.  And  that  day  the  jour 
ney-cakes  which  Polly  Ann  had  made  were  untasted  by 
us  both.  The  afternoon  dragged  interminably.  Try  as 
we  would,  we  could  not  get  out  of  our  minds  the  Thing 
that  lay  under  the  oak. 

It  was  near  sundown  when  Tom  and  Weldon  appeared 


96  THE  CROSSING 

on  the  mountain  side  carrying  a  buck  between  them. 
Tom  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  keenly.  He  was 
very  quick  to  divine. 

"  Whar  be  they  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Show  him,  Davy,"  said  Polly  Ann. 

I  took  him  over  to  the  oak,  and  Polly  Ann  told  him  the 
story.  He  gave  me  one  look,  I  remember,  and  there  was 
more  of  gratitude  in  it  than  in  a  thousand  words.  Then 
he  seized  a  piece  of  cold  cake  from  the  stone. 

"  Which  trace  did  he  take?  "  he  demanded  of  me. 

But  Polly  Ann  hung  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Tom,  Tom ! "  she  cried,  "  you  beant  goin'  to  leave 
us  again.  Tom,  he'll  die  in  the  wilderness,  and  we  must 
git  to  Kaintuckee." 


The  next  vivid  thing  in  my  memory  is  the  view  of  the 
last  barrier  Nature  had  reared  between  us  and  the  delec 
table  country.  It  stood  like  a  lion  at  the  gateway, 
and  for  some  minutes  we  gazed  at  it  in  terror  from 
Powell's  Valley  below.  How  many  thousands  have 
looked  at  it  with  sinking  hearts !  How  many  weaklings 
has  its  frown  turned  back  !  There  seemed  to  be  engraved 
upon  it  the  dark  history  of  the  dark  and  bloody  land 
beyond.  Nothing  in  this  life  worth  having  is  won  for  the 
asking ;  and  the  best  is  fought  for,  and  bled  for,  and  died 
for.  Written,  too,  upon  that  towering  wall  of  white  rock, 
in  the  handwriting  of  God  Himself,  is  the  history  of  the 
indomitable  Race  to  which  we  belong. 

For  fifty  miles  we  travelled  under  it,  towards  the  Gap, 
our  eyes  drawn  to  it  by  a  resistless  fascination.  The  sun 
went  over  it  early  in  the  day,  as  though  glad  to  leave 
the  place,  and  after  that  a  dark  scowl  would  settle  there. 
At  night  we  felt  its  presence,  like  a  curse.  Even  Polly 
Ann  was  silent.  And  she  had  need  to  be  now.  When  it 
was  necessary,  we  talked  in  low  tones,  and  the  bell-clappers 
on  the  horses  were  not  loosed  at  night.  It  was  here,  but 
four  years  gone,  that  Daniel  Boone's  family  was  attacked, 
and  his  son  killed  by  the  Indians. 


THE  NOLLICHUCKY  TRACE  97 

We  passed,  from  time  to  time,  deserted  cabins  and 
camps,  and  some  places  that  might  once  have  been  called 
settlements  :  Elk  Garden,  where  the  pioneers  of  the  last 
four  years  had  been  wont  to  lay  in  a  simple  supply  of 
seed  corn  and  Irish  potatoes  ;  and  the  spot  where  Hender 
son  and  his  company  had  camped  on  the  way  to  establish 
Boonesboro  two  years  before.  And  at  last  we  struck  the 
trace  that  mounted  upward  to  the  Gateway  itself. 


CHAPTER   IX 

ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL, 

AND  now  we  had  our  hands  upon  the  latch,  and  God 
alone  knew  what  was  behind  the  gate.  Toil,  with  a  cer 
tainty,  but  our  lives  had  known  it.  Death,  perchance. 
But  Death  had  been  near  to  all  of  us,  and  his  presence  did 
not  frighten.  As  we  climbed  towards  the  Gap,  I  recalled 
with  strange  aptness  a  quaint  saying  of  my  father's  that 
Kaintuckee  was  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  that  men  were 
being  justly  punished  with  blood  for  their  presumption. 

As  if  to  crown  that  judgment,  the  day  was  dark  and  low 
ering,  with  showers  of  rain  from  time  to  time.  And  when 
we  spoke,  —  Polly  Ann  and  I,  —  it  was  in  whispers.  The 
trace  was  very  narrow,  with  Daniel  Boone's  blazes,  two 
years  old,  upon  the  trees  ;  but  the  way  was  not  over  steep. 
Cumberland  Mountain  was  as  silent  and  deserted  as  when 
the  first  man  had  known  it. 

Alas,  for  the  vanity  of  human  presage  !  We  gained  the 
top,  and  entered  unmolested.  No  Eden  suddenly  dazzled 
our  eye,  no  splendor  burst  upon  it.  Nothing  told  us,  as 
we  halted  in  our  weariness,  that  we  had  reached  the  Prom 
ised  Land.  The  mists  weighed  heavily  on  the  evergreens 
of  the  slopes  and  hid  the  ridges,  and  we  passed  that  night 
in  cold  discomfort.  It  was  the  first  of  many  without  a 
fire. 

The  next  day  brought  us  to  the  Cumberland,  tawny  and 
swollen  from  the  rains,  and  here  we  had  to  stop  to  fell 
trees  to  make  a  raft  on  which  to  ferry  over  our  packs. 
We  bound  the  logs  together  with  grapevines,  and  as  we 
worked  my  imagination  painted  for  me  many  a  red  face 
peering  from  the  bushes  on  the  farther  shore.  And  when 
we  got  into  the  river  and  were  caught  and  spun  by  the 


ON   THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL  99 

hurrying  stream,  I  hearkened  for  a  shot  from  the  farther 
bank.  While  Polly  Ann  and  I  were  scrambling  to  get  the 
raft  landed,  Tom  and  Weldon  swam  over  with  the  horses. 
And  so  we  lay  the  second  night  dolefully  in  the  rain.  But 
not  so  much  as  a  whimper  escaped  from  Polly  Ann.  I 
have  often  told  her  since  that  the  sorest  trial  she  had  was 
the  guard  she  kept  on  her  tongue,  —  a  hardship  indeed  for 
one  of  Irish  inheritance.  Many  a  pull  had  she  lightened 
for  us  by  a  flash  of  humor. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  relented,  and  the  wine  of  his 
dawn  was  wine  indeed  to  our  flagging  hopes.  Going 
down  to  wash  at  the  river's  brink,  I  heard  a  movement  in 
the  cane,  and  stood  frozen  and  staring  until  a  great,  bearded 
head,  black  as  tar,  was  thrust  out  between  the  stalks  and 
looked  at  me  with  blinking  red  eyes.  The  next  step  re 
vealed  the  hump  of  the  beast,  and  the  next  his  tasselled 
tail  lashing  his  dirty  brown  quarters.  I  did  not  tarry 
longer,  but  ran  to  tell  Tom.  He  made  bold  to  risk  a  shot 
and  light  a  fire,  and  thus  we  had  buffalo  meat  for  some 
days  after. 

We  were  still  in  the  mountains.  The  trail  led  down  the 
river  for  a  bit  through  the  worst  of  canebrakes,  and  every 
now  and  again  we  stopped  while  Tom  and  Weldon  scouted. 
Once  the  roan  mare  made  a  dash  through  the  brake,  and, 
though  Polly  Ann  burst  through  one  way  to  head  her  off 
and  I  another,  we  reached  the  bank  of  Richland  Creek  in 
time  to  see  her  nose  and  the  top  of  her  pack  above  the 
brown  water.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  swim  after 
her,  which  I  did,  and  caught  her  quietly  feeding  in  the 
cane  on  the  other  side.  By  great  good  fortune  the  other 
horse  bore  the  powder. 

"  Drat  you,  Nancy,"  said  Polly  Ann  to  the  mare,  as  she 
handed  me  my  clothes,  "  I'd  sooner  carry  the  pack  myself 
than  be  bothered  with  you." 

"  Hush,"  said  I,  "the  redskins  will  get  us." 

Polly  Ann  regarded  me  scornfully  as  I  stood  bedraggled 
before  her. 

"  Redskins !  "  she  cried.  "  Nonsense  !  I  reckon  it's  all 
talk  about  redskins." 


100  THE  CROSSING 

But  we  had  scarce  caught  up  ere  we  saw  Tom  standing 
rigid  with  his  hand  raised.  Before  him,  on  a  mound  bared 
of  cane,  were  the  charred  remains  of  a  fire.  The  sight  of 
them  transformed  Weldon.  His  eyes  glared  again,  even  as 
when  we  had  first  seen  him,  curses  escaped  under  his 
breath,  and  he  would  have  darted  into  the  cane  had  not 
Tom  seized  him  sternly  by  the  shoulder.  As  for  me,  my 
heart  hammered  against  my  ribs,  and  I  grew  sick  with 
listening.  It  was  at  that  instant  that  my  admiration  for 
Tom  McChesney  burst  bounds,  and  that  I  got  some  real 
inkling  of  what  woodcraft  might  be.  Stepping  silently 
between  the  tree  trunks,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  leafy  loam, 
he  found  a  footprint  here  and  another  there,  and  suddenly 
he  went  into  the  cane  with  a  sign  to  us  to  remain.  It 
seemed  an  age  before  he  returned.  Then  he  began  to 
rake  the  ashes,  and,  suddenly  bending  down,  seized 
something  in  them,  —  the  broken  bowl  of  an  Indian 
pipe. 

"  Shawnees  !  "  he  said  ;  "  I  reckoned  so."  It  was  at 
length  the  beseeching  in  Polly  Ann's  eyes  that  he  an 
swered. 

"A  war  party  —  tracks  three  days  old.  They  took 
poplar." 

To  take  poplar  was  our  backwoods  expression  for  em 
barking  in  a  canoe,  the  dugouts  being  fashioned  from  the 
great  poplar  trees. 

I  did  not  reflect  then,  as  I  have  since  and  often,  how 
great  was  the  knowledge  and  resource  Tom  practised  that 
day.  Our  feeling  for  him  (Polly  Ann's  and  mine)  fell 
little  short  of  worship.  In  company  ill  at  ease,  in  the 
forest  he  became  silent  and  masterful  —  an  unerring 
woodsman,  capable  of  meeting  the  Indian  on  his  own 
footing.  And,  strangest  thought  of  all,  he  and  many  I 
could  name  who  went  into  Kentucky,  had  escaped,  by  a 
kind  of  strange  fate,  being  born  in  the  north  of  Ireland. 
This  was  so  of  Andrew  Jackson  himself. 

The  rest  of  the  day  he  led  us  in  silence  down  the  trace, 
his  eye  alert  to  penetrate  every  corner  of  the  forest,  his 
hand  near  the  trigger  of  his  long  Deckard.  I  followed  in 


ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL  101 

boylike  imitation,  searching  every  thicket  for  alien  form 
and  color,  and  yearning  for  stature  and  responsibility. 
As  for  poor  Weldon,  he  would  stride  for  hours  at  a  time 
with  eyes  fixed  ahead,  a  wild  figure,  —  ragged  and  fringed. 
And  we  knew  that  the  soul  within  him  was  torn  with 
thoughts  of  his  dead  wife  and  of  his  child  in  captivity. 
Again,  when  the  trance  left  him,  he  was  an  addition  to 
our  little  party  not  to  be  despised. 

At  dark  Polly  Ann  and  I  carried  the  packs  across  a 
creek  on  a  fallen  tree,  she  taking  one  end  and  I  the 
other.  We  camped  there,  where  the  loam  was  trampled 
and  torn  by  countless  herds  of  bison,  and  had  only 
parched  corn  and  the  remains  of  a  buffalo  steak  for 
supper,  as  the  meal  was  mouldy  from  its  wetting,  and 
running  low.  When  Weldon  had  gone  a  little  distance 
up  the  creek  to  scout,  Tom  relented  from  the  sternness 
which  his  vigilance  imposed  and  came  and  sat  down  on  a 
log  beside  Polly  Ann  and  me. 

"  'Tis  a  hard  journey,  little  girl,"  he  said,  patting  her ; 
"I  reckon  I  done  wrong  to  fetch  you." 

I  can  see  him  now,  as  the  twilight  settled  down  over 
the  wilderness,  his  honest  face  red  and  freckled,  but 
aglow  with  the  tenderness  it  had  hidden  during  the 
day,  one  big  hand  enfolding  hers,  and  the  other  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  Hark,  Davy !  "  said  Polly  Ann,  "  he's  fair  tired  of  us 
already.  Davy,  take  me  back." 

"  Hush,  Polly  Ann,"  he  answered,  delighted  at  her 
raillery.  "  But  I've  a  word  to  say  to  you.  If  we  come 
on  to  the  redskins,  you  and  Davy  make  for  the  cane  as 
hard  as  you  kin  kilter.  Keep  out  of  sight." 

"  As  hard  as  we  kin  kilter !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann, 
indignantly.  "  I  reckon  not,  Tom  McChesney.  Davy 
taught  me  to  shoot  long  ago,  afore  you  made  up  your 
mind  to  come  back  from  Kaintuckee." 

Tom  chuckled.  "  So  Davy  taught  you  to  shoot,"  he 
said,  and  checked  himself.  "He  ain't  such  a  bad  one 
with  a  pistol,  "  —  and  he  patted  me,  —  "  but  I  allow  ye'd 
better  hunt  kiver  just  the  same.  And  if  they  ketch  ye, 


102  THE  CROSSING 

Polly  Ann,  just  you  go  along  and  pretend  to  be  happy,  and 
tear  off  a  snatch  of  your  dress  now  and  then,  if  you  get 
a  chance.  It  wouldn't  take  me  but  a  little  time  to  run 
into  Harrodstown  or  Boone's  Station  from  here,  and 
fetch  a  party  to  follow  ye." 

Two  days  went  by, — two  days  of  strain  in  sunlight,  and 
of  watching  and  fitful  sleep  in  darkness.  But  the  Wil 
derness  Trail  was  deserted.  Here  and  there  a  lean-to 
—  silent  remnant  of  the  year  gone  by  —  spoke  of  the 
little  bands  of  emigrants  which  had  once  made  their  way 
so  cheerfully  to  the  new  country.  Again  it  was  a  child's 
doll,  the  rags  of  it  beaten  by  the  weather  to  a  rusty  hue. 
Every  hour  that  we  progressed  seemed  to  justify  the 
sagacity  and  boldness  of  Tom's  plan,  nor  did  it  appear 
to  have  entered  a  painted  skull  that  a  white  man  would 
have  the  hardihood  to  try  the  trail  this  year.  There 
were  neither  signs  nor  sounds  save  Nature's  own,  the 
hoot  of  the  wood-owl,  the  distant  bark  of  a  mountain 
wolf,  the  whir  of  a  partridge  as  she  left  her  brood. 
At  length  we  could  stand  no  more  the  repression  that 
silence  and  watching  put  upon  us,  and  when  a  rotten 
bank  gave  way  and  flung  Polly  Ann  and  the  sorrel  mare 
into  a  creek,  even  Weldon  smiled  as  we  pulled  her,  bedrag 
gled  and  laughing,  from  the  muddy  water.  This  was  after 
we  had  ferried  the  Rockcastle  River. 

Our  trace  rose  and  fell  over  height  and  valley,  until 
we  knew  that  we  were  come  to  a  wonderland  at  last. 
We  stood  one  evening  on  a  spur  as  the  setting  sun 
flooded  the  natural  park  below  us  with  a  crystal  light 
and,  striking  a  tall  sycamore,  turned  its  green  to  gold. 
We  were  now  on  the  hills  whence  the  water  ran  down 
to  nourish  the  fat  land,  and  I  could  scarce  believe  that 
the  garden  spot  on  which  our  eyes  feasted  could  be  the 
scene  of  the  blood  and  suffering  of  which  we  had  heard. 
Here  at  last  was  the  fairyland  of  my  childhood,  the  coun 
try  beyond  the  Blue  Wall. 

We  went  down  the  river  that  led  into  it,  with  awe, 
as  though  we  were  trespassers  against  God  Himself,  —  as 
though  He  had  made  it  too  beautiful  and  too  fruitful 


ON  THE   WILDERNESS  TEAIL  103 

for  the  toilers  of  this  earth.  And  you  who  read  this 
an  hundred  years  hence  may  not  believe  the  marvels 
of  it  to  the  pioneer,  and  in  particular  to  one  born  and 
bred  in  the  scanty,  hard  soil  of  the  mountains.  Nature 
had  made  it  for  her  park,  —  ay,  and  scented  it  with  her 
own  perfumes.  Giant  trees,  which  had  watched  genera 
tions  come  and  go,  some  of  which  mayhap  had  been  sap 
lings  when  the  Norman  came  to  England,  grew  in  groves, — 
the  gnarled  and  twisted  oak,  and  that  godsend  to  the 
settlers,  the  sugar-maple ;  the  coffee  tree  with  its  droop 
ing  buds ;  the  mulberry,  the  cherry,  and  the  plum ;  the 
sassafras  and  the  pawpaw;  the  poplar  and  the  sycamore, 
slender  maidens  of  the  forest,  garbed  in  daintier  colors,  — 
ay,  and  that  resplendent  brunette  with  the  white  flowers, 
the  magnolia;  and  all  underneath,  in  the  green  shade, 
enamelled  banks  which  the  birds  themselves  sought  to 
rival. 

At  length,  one  afternoon,  we  came  to  the  grove  of  wild 
apple  trees  so  lovingly  spoken  of  by  emigrants  as  the 
Crab  Orchard,  and  where  formerly  they  had  delighted 
to  linger.  The  plain  near  by  was  flecked  with  the  brown 
backs  of  feeding  buffalo,  but  we  dared  not  stop,  and 
pressed  on  to  find  a  camp  in  the  forest.  As  we  walked 
in  the  filtered  sunlight  we  had  a  great  fright,  Polly 
Ann  and  I.  Shrill,  discordant  cries  suddenly  burst  from 
the  branches  above  us,  and  a  flock  of  strange,  green  birds 
flecked  with  red  flew  over  our  heads.  Even  Tom,  intent 
upon  the  trail,  turned  and  laughed  at  Polly  Ann  as  she 
stood  clutching  me. 

"Shucks,"  said  he,  "they're  only  paroquets." 
We  made  our  camp  in  a  little  dell  where  there  was  short 
green  grass  by  the  brookside  and  steep  banks  overgrown 
with  brambles  on  either  hand.  Tom  knew  the  place,  and 
declared  that  we  were  within  thirty  miles  of  the  station. 
A  giant  oak  had  blown  down  across  the  water,  and,  cut 
ting  out  a  few  branches  of  this,  we  spread  our  blankets 
under  it  on  the  turf.  Tethering  our  faithful  beasts,  and 
cutting  a  quantity  of  pea-vine  for  their  night's  food,  we 
lay  down  to  sleep,  Tom  taking  the  first  watch. 


104  THE   CROSSING 

I  had  the  second,  for  Tom  trusted  me  now,  and  glorying 
in  that  trust  I  was  alert  and  vigilant.  A  shy  moon  peeped 
at  me  between  the  trees,  and  was  fantastically  reflected  in 
the  water.  The  creek  rippled  over  the  limestone,  and  an 
elk  screamed  in  the  forest  far  beyond.  When  at  length 
I  had  called  Weldon  to  take  the  third  watch,  I  lay  down 
with  a  sense  of  peace,  soothed  by  the  sweet  odors  of  the 
night. 

I  awoke  suddenly.  I  had  been  dreaming  of  Nick  Temple 
and  Temple  Bow,  and  my  father  coming  back  to  me 
there  with  a  great  gash  in  his  shoulder  like  Weldon's.  I 
lay  for  a  moment  dazed  by  the  transition,  staring  through 
the  gray  light.  Then  I  sat  up,  the  soft  stamping  and 
snorting  of  the  horses  in  my  ears.  The  sorrel  mare  had 
her  nose  high,  her  tail  twitching,  but  there  was  no  other 
sound  in  the  leafy  wilderness.  With  a  bound  of  returning 
sense  I  looked  for  Weldon.  He  had  fallen  asleep  on  the 
bank  above,  his  body  dropped  across  the  trunk  of  the  oak. 
I  leaped  on  the  trunk  and  made  my  way  along  it,  stepping 
over  him,  until  I  reached  and  hid  myself  in  the  great  roots 
of  the  tree  on  the  bank  above.  The  cold  shiver  of  the 
dawn  was  in  my  body  as  I  waited  and  listened.  Should 
I  wake  Tom  ?  The  vast  forest  was  silent,  and  yet  in  its 
shadowy  depths  my  imagination  drew  moving  forms.  I 
hesitated. 

The  light  grew  :  the  boles  of  the  trees  came  out,  one  by 
one,  through  the  purple.  The  tangled  mass  down  the 
creek  took  on  a  shade  of  green,  and  a  faint  breath  came 
from  the  southward.  The  sorrel  mare  sniffed  it,  and 
stamped.  Then  silence  again,  —  a  long  silence.  Could  it 
be  that  the  cane  moved  in  the  thicket  ?  Or  had  my  eyes 
deceived  me  ?  I  stared  so  hard  that  it  seemed  to  rustle 
all  over.  Perhaps  some  deer  were  feeding  there,  for  it  was 
no  unusual  thing,  when  we  rose  in  the  morning,  to  hear 
the  whistle  of  a  startled  doe  near  our  camping  ground. 
I  was  thoroughly  frightened  now,  —  and  yet  I  had  the 
speculative  Scotch  mind.  The  thicket  was  some  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  yards  above,  and  on  the  flooded  lands  at  a 
bend.  If  there  were  Indians  in  it,  they  could  not  see  thy 


ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL  105 

sleeping  forms  of  our  party  under  me  because  of  a  bend  in 
the  stream.  They  might  have  seen  me,  though  I  had  kept 
very  still  in  the  twisted  roots  of  the  oak,  and  now  I  was 
cramped.  If  Indians  were  there,  they  could  determine 
our  position  well  enough  by  the  occasional  stamping  and 
snorting  of  the  horses.  And  this  made  my  fear  more 
probable,  for  I  had  heard  that  horses  and  cattle  often 
warned  pioneers  of  the  presence  of  redskins. 

Another  thing  :  if  they  were  a  small  party,  they  would 
probably  seek  to  surprise  us  by  coming  out  of  the  cane 
into  the  creek  bed  above  the  bend,  and  stalk  down  the 
creek.  If  a  large  band,  they  would  surround  and  over 
power  us.  I  drew  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  a  small 
party  —  if  a  party  at  all.  And  I  would  have  given  a  shot 
in  the  arm  to  be  able  to  see  over  the  banks  of  the  creek. 
Finally  I  decided  to  awake  Tom. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  down  to  where  he  was 
without  being  seen  by  eyes  in  the  cane.  I  clung  to  the 
under  branches  of  the  oak,  finally  reached  the  shelving 
bank,  and  slid  down  slowly.  I  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  He  awoke  with  a  start,  and  by  instinct  seized 
the  rifle  lying  beside  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Davy  ?  "  he  whispered. 

I  told  what  had  happened  and  my  surmise.  He  glanced 
then  at  the  restless  horses  and  nodded,  pointing  up  at  the 
sleeping  figure  of  Weldon,  in  full  sight  on  the  log.  The 
Indians  must  have  seen  him. 

Tom  picked  up  the  spare  rifle. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  you  stay  here  beside  Polly  Ann, 
behind  the  oak.  You  kin  shoot  with  a  rest :  but  don't 
shoot,"  said  he,  earnestly,  "  for  God's  sake  don't  shoot 
unless  you're  sure  to  kill." 

I  nodded.  For  a  moment  he  looked  at  the  face  of  Polly 
Ann,  sleeping  peacefully,  and  the  fierce  light  faded  from 
his  eyes.  He  brushed  her  on  the  cheek  and  she  awoke 
and  smiled  at  him,  trustfully,  lovingly.  He  put  his  finger 
to  his  lips. 

"  Stay  with  Davy,"  he  said.  Turning  to  me,  he  added  : 
"When  you  wake  Weldon,  wake  him  easy.  So."  He 


106  THE   CROSSING 

put  his  hand  in  mine,  and  gradually  tightened  it.  "  Wake 
him  that  way,  and  he  won't  jump." 

Polly  Ann  asked  no  questions.  She  looked  at  Tom, 
and  her  soul  was  in  her  face.  She  seized  the  pistol  from 
the  blanket.  Then  we  watched  him  creeping  down  the 
creek  on  his  belly,  close  to  the  bank.  Next  we  moved 
behind  the  fallen  tree,  and  I  put  my  hand  in  Weldon's. 
He  woke  with  a  sigh,  started,  but  we  drew  him  down  be 
hind  the  log.  Presently  he  climbed  cautiously  up  the  bank 
and  took  station  in  the  muddy  roots  of  the  tree.  Then 
we  waited,  watching  Tom  with  a  prayer  in  our  hearts. 
Those  who  have  not  felt  it  know  not  the  fearfulness  of 
waiting  for  an  Indian  attack. 

At  last  Tom  reached  the  bend  in  the  bank,  beside  some 
red-bud  bushes,  and  there  he  stayed.  A  level  shaft  of 
light  shot  through  the  forest.  The  birds,  twittering, 
awoke.  A  great  hawk  soared  high  in  the  blue  over  our 
heads.  An  hour  passed.  I  had  sighted  the  rifle  among 
the  yellow  leaves  of  the  fallen  oak  an  hundred  times. 
But  Polly  Ann  looked  not  once  to  the  right  or  left.  Her 
eyes  and  her  prayers  followed  the  form  of  her  husband. 

Then,  like  the  cracking  of  a  great  drover's  whip,  a 
shot  rang  out  in  the  stillness,  and  my  hands  tightened 
over  the  rifle-stock.  A  piece  of  bark  struck  me  in  the 
face,  and  a  dead  leaf  fluttered  to  the  ground.  Almost 
instantly  there  was  another  shot,  and  a  blue  wisp  of  smoke 
rose  from  the  red-bud  bushes,  where  Tom  was.  The  horses 
whinnied,  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  cane,  and  silence.  Wei- 
don  bent  over. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  he  hit  one.  Tom 
hit  one." 

I  felt  Polly  Ann's  hand  on  my  face. 

"  Davy  dear,"  she  said,  "  are  ye  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  dazed,  and  wondering  why  Weldon  had 
not  been  shot  long  ago  as  he  slumbered.  I  was  burning 
to  climb  the  bank  and  ask  him  whether  he  had  seen  the 
Indian  fall. 

Again  there  was  silence,  —  a  silence  even  more  awful 
than  before.  The  sun  crept  higher,  the  magic  of  his  rays 


107 

turning  the  creek  from  black  to  crystal,  and  the  birds 
began  to  sing  again.  And  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
treacherous  enemy  that  lurked  about  us.  Could  Tom  get 
back?  I  glanced  at  Polly  Ann.  The  same  question  was 
written  in  her  yearning  eyes,  staring  at  the  spot  where  the 
gray  of  his  hunting  shirt  showed  through  the  bushes  at 
the  bend.  Suddenly  her  hand  tightened  on  mine.  The 
hunting  shirt  was  gone ! 

After  that,  in  the  intervals  when  my  terror  left  me,  I  tried 
to  speculate  upon  the  plan  of  the  savages.  Their  own 
numbers  could  not  be  great,  and  yet  they  must  have 
known  from  our  trace  how  few  we  were.  Scanning  the 
ground,  I  noted  that  the  forest  was  fairly  clean  of  under 
growth  on  both  sides  of  us.  Below,  the  stream  ran 
straight,  but  there  were  growths  of  cane  and  briers.  Look 
ing  up,  I  saw  Weldon  faced  about.  It  was  the  obvious 
move. 

But  where  had  Tom  gone  ? 

Next  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  little  run  fringed  with 
bushes  that  curved  around  the  cane  near  the  bend.  I 
traced  its  course,  unconsciously,  bit  by  bit,  until  it  reached 
the  edge  of  a  bank  not  fifty  feet  away. 

All  at  once  my  breath  left  me.  Through  the  tangle  of 
bramble  stems  at  the  mouth  of  the  run,  above  naked  brown 
shoulders  there  glared  at  me,  hideously  streaked  with  red, 
a  face.  Had  my  fancy  lied?  I  stared  again  until  my  eyes 
were  blurred,  now  tortured  by  doubt,  now  so  completely 
convinced  that  my  fingers  almost  released  the  trigger,  — 
for  I  had  thrown  the  sights  into  line  over  the  tree.  I 
know  not  to  this  day  whether  I  shot  from  determination 
or  nervousness.  My  shoulder  bruised  by  the  kick,  the 
smoke  like  a  veil  before  my  face,  it  was  some  moments 
ere  I  knew  that  the  air  was  full  of  whistling  bullets ;  and 
then  the  gun  was  torn  from  my  hands,  and  I  saw  Polly  Ann 
ramming  in  a  new  charge. 

"  The  pistol,  Davy,"  she  cried. 

One  torture  was  over,  another  on.  Crack  after  crack 
sounded  from  the  forest  —  from  here  and  there  and  every 
where,  it  seemed  —  and  with  a  song  that  like  a  hurtling 


108  THE  CROSSING 

insect  ran  the  scale  of  notes,  the  bullets  buried  themselves 
in  the  trunk  of  our  oak  with  a  chug.  Once  in  a  while  I 
heard  Weldon's  answering  shot,  but  I  remembered  my 
promise  to  Tom  not  to  waste  powder  unless  I  were  sure. 
The  agony  was  the  breathing  space  we  had  while  they 
crept  nearer.  Then  we  thought  of  Tom,  and  I  dared  not 
glance  at  Polly  Ann  for  fear  that  the  sight  of  her  face 
would  unnerve  me. 

Then  a  longing  to  kill  seized  me,  a  longing  so  strange 
and  fierce  that  I  could  scarce  be  still.  I  know  now  that 
it  comes  in  battle  to  all  men,  and  with  intensity  to  the 
hunted,  and  it  explained  to  me  more  clearly  what  fol 
lowed.  I  fairly  prayed  for  the  sight  of  a  painted  form, 
and  time  after  time  my  fancy  tricked  me  into  the  notion 
that  I  had  one.  And  even  as  I  searched  the  brambles  at 
the  top  of  the  run  a  puff  of  smoke  rose  out  of  them,  a  bul 
let  burying  itself  in  the  roots  near  Weldon,  who  fired  in 
return.  I  say  that  I  have  some  notion  of  what  possessed 
the  man,  for  he  was  crazed  with  passion  at  fighting  the 
race  which  had  so  cruelly  wronged  him.  Horror-struck,  I 
saw  him  swing  down  from  the  bank,  splash  through  the 
water  with  raised  tomahawk,  and  gain  the  top  of  the  run. 
In  less  time  than  it  takes  me  to  write  these  words  he  had 
dragged  a  hideous,  naked  warrior  out  of  the  brambles,  and 
with  an  avalanche  of  crumbling  earth  they  slid  into  the 
waters  of  the  creek.  Polly  Ann  and  I  stared  transfixed 
at  the  fearful  fight  that  followed,  nor  can  I  give  any  ade 
quate  description  of  it.  Weldon  had  struck  through  the 
brambles,  but  the  savage  had  taken  the  blow  on  his  gun- 
barrel  and  broken  the  handle  of  the  tomahawk,  and  it  was 
man  to  man  as  they  rolled  in  the  shallow  water,  locked  in 
a  death  embrace.  Neither  might  reach  for  his  knife, 
neither  was  able  to  hold  the  other  down,  Weldon's  curses 
surcharged  with  hatred,  the  Indian  straining  silently  save 
for  a  gasp  or  a  guttural  note,  the  white  a  bearded  mad 
man,  the  savage  a  devil  with  a  glistening,  paint-streaked 
body,  his  features  now  agonized  as  his  muscles  strained 
and  cracked,  now  lighted  with  a  diabolical  joy.  But  the 
pent-up  rage  of  months  gave  the  white  man  strength. 


ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TEAIL  109 

Polly  Ann  and  I  were  powerless  for  fear  of  shooting 
Weldon,  and  gazed  absorbed  at  the  fiendish  scene  with 
eyes  not  to  be  withdrawn.  The  tree-trunk  shook.  A 
long,  bronze  arm  reached  out  from  above,  and  a  painted 
face  glowered  at  us  from  the  very  roots  where  Weldon 
had  lain.  That  moment  I  took  to  be  my  last,  and  in  it  I 
seemed  to  taste  all  eternity.  I  heard  but  faintly  a  noise 
beyond.  It  was  the  shock  of  the  heavy  Indian  falling  on 
Polly  Ann  and  me  as  we  cowered  under  the  trunk,  and 
even  then  there  was  an  instant  that  we  stood  gazing  at 
him  as  at  a  worm  writhing  in  the  clay.  It  was  she  who 
fired  the  pistol  and  made  the  great  hole  in  his  head,  and  so 
he  twitched  and  died.  After  that  a  confusion  of  shots, 
war-whoops,  a  vision  of  two  naked  forms  flying  from  tree  to 
tree  towards  the  cane,  and  then — God  be  praised — Tom's 
voice  shouting:  — 

"  Polly  Ann !     Polly  Ann !  " 

Before  she  had  reached  the  top  of  the  bank  Tom  had  her 
in  his  arms,  and  a  dozen  tall  gray  figures  leaped  the  six 
feet  into  the  stream  and  stopped.  My  own  eyes  turned 
with  theirs  to  see  the  body  of  poor  Weldon  lying  face 
downward  in  the  water.  But  beyond  it  a  tragedy  awaited 
me.  Defiant,  immovable,  save  for  the  heaving  of  his  naked 
chest,  the  savage  who  had  killed  him  stood  erect  with  folded 
arms  facing  us.  The  smoke  cleared  away  from  a  gleaming 
rifle-barrel,  and  the  brave  staggered  and  fell  and  died  as 
silent  as  he  stood,  his  feathers  making  ripples  in  the 
stream.  It  was  cold-blooded,  if  you  like,  but  war  in  those 
days  was  to  the  death,  and  knew  no  mercy.  The  tall 
backwoodsman  who  had  shot  him  waded  across  the  stream, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  seized  the  scalp-lock  and 
ran  it  round  with  his  knife,  holding  up  the  bleeding  trophy 
with  a  shout.  Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  stretched  myself, 
but  I  had  been  cramped  so  long  that  I  tottered  and  would 
have  fallen  had  not  Tom's  hand  steadied  me. 

"Davy!"  he  cried.  "Thank  God,  little  Davy!  the 
varmints  didn't  get  ye." 

"And  you,  Tom?"  I  answered,  looking  up  at  him, 
bewildered  with  happiness. 


110  THE   CROSSING 

"  They  was  nearer  than  I  suspicioned  when  I  went  off," 
he  said,  and  looked  at  me  curiously.  "  Drat  the  little 
deevil,"  he  said  affectionately,  and  his  voice  trembled, 
"he  took  care  of  Polly  Ann,  I'll  warrant." 

He  carried  me  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  where  we  were 
surrounded  by  the  whole  band  of  backwoodsmen. 

"  That  he  did !  "  cried  Polly  Ann,  "  and  fetched  a  red 
skin  yonder  as  clean  as  you  could  have  done  it,  Tom." 

"  The  little  deevil !  "  exclaimed  Tom  again. 

I  looked  up,  burning  with  this  praise  from  Tom  (for  I 
had  never  thought  of  praise  nor  of  anything  save  his  hap 
piness  and  Polly  Ann's).  I  looked  up,  and  my  eyes  were 
caught  and  held  with  a  strange  fascination  by  fearless 
blue  ones  that  gazed  down  into  them.  I  give  you  but  a 
poor  description  of  the  owner  of  these  blue  eyes,  for  per 
sonal  magnetism  springs  not  from  one  feature  or  another. 
He  was  a  young  man,  —  perhaps  five  and  twenty  as  I  now 
know  age,  —  woodsman-clad,  square-built,  sun-reddened. 
His  hair  might  have  been  orange  in  one  light  and  sand- 
colored  in  another.  With  a  boy's  sense  of  such  things 
I  knew  that  the  other  woodsmen  were  waiting  for  him  to 
speak,  for  they  glanced  at  him  expectantly. 

"  You  had  a  near  call,  McChesney,"  said  he,  at  length ; 
"  fortunate  for  you  we  were  after  this  band,  —  shot  some 
of  it  to  pieces  yesterday  morning."  He  paused,  looking 
at  Tom  with  that  quality  of  tribute  which  comes  natu 
rally  to  a  leader  of  men.  "  By  God,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't 
think  you'd  try  it." 

"  My  word  is  good,  Colonel  Clark,"  answered  Tom, 
simply. 

Young  Colonel  Clark  glanced  at  the  lithe  figure  of 
Polly  Ann.  He  seemed  a  man  of  few  words,  for  he  did 
not  add  to  his  praise  of  Tom's  achievement  by  compliment 
ing  her  as  Captain  Sevier  had  done.  In  fact,  he  said  noth 
ing  more,  but  leaped  down  the  bank  and  strode  into  the 
water  where  the  body  of  Weldon  lay,  and  dragged  it  out 
himself.  We  gathered  around  it  silently,  and  two  great 
tears  rolled  down  Polly  Ann's  cheeks  as  she  parted  the 
hair  with  tenderness  and  loosened  the  clenched  hands. 


ON  THE  WILDERNESS   TRAIL  111 

Nor  did  any  of  the  tall  woodsmen  speak.  Poor  Weldon ! 
The  tragedy  of  his  life  and  death  was  the  tragedy  of  Ken 
tucky  herself.  They  buried  him  by  the  waterside,  where 
he  had  fallen. 

But  there  was  little  time  for  mourning  on  the  border. 
The  burial  finished,  the  Kentuckians  splashed  across  the 
creek,  and  one  of  them,  stooping  with  a  shout  at  the  mouth 
of  the  run,  lifted  out  of  the  brambles  a  painted  body  with 
drooping  head  and  feathers  trailing. 

"Ay,  Mac,"  he  cried,  "here's  a  sculp  for  ye." 

"It's  Davy's,"  exclaimed  Polly  Ann  from  the  top  of 
the  bank;  "Davy  shot  that  one." 

"  Hooray  for  Davy,"  cried  a  huge,  strapping  backwoods 
man  who  stood  beside  her,  and  the  others  laughingly  took 
up  the  shout.  "  Hooray  for  Davy.  Bring  him  over, 
Cowan."  The  giant  threw  me  on  his  shoulder  as  though 
I  had  been  a  fox,  leaped  down,  and  took  the  stream  in 
two  strides.  I  little  thought  how  often  he  was  to  carry 
me  in  days  to  come,  but  I  felt  a  great  awe  at  the  strength 
of  him,  as  I  stared  into  his  rough  features  and  his  veined 
and  weathered  skin.  He  stood  me  down  beside  the  Ind 
ian's  body,  smiled  as  he  whipped  my  hunting  knife  from 
my  belt,  and  said,  "Now,  Davy,  take  the  sculp." 

Nothing  loath,  I  seized  the  Indian  by  the  long  scalp- 
lock,  while  my  big  friend  guided  my  hand,  and  amid 
laughter  and  cheers  I  cut  off  my  first  trophy  of  war. 
Nor  did  I  have  any  other  feeling  than  fierce  hatred  of  the 
race  which  had  killed  my  father. 

Those  who  have  known  armies  in  their  discipline  will 
find  it  difficult  to  understand  the  leadership  of  the  border. 
Such  leadership  was  granted  only  to  those  whose  force  and 
individuality  compelled  men  to  obey  them.  I  had  my 
first  glimpse  of  it  that  day.  This  Colonel  Clark  to  whom 
Tom  delivered  Mr.  Robertson's  letter  was  perchance  the 
youngest  man  in  the  company  that  had  rescued  us,  saving 
only  a  slim  lad  of  seventeen  whom  I  noticed  and  envied, 
and  whose  name  was  James  Ray.  Colonel  Clark,  so  7 
was  told  by  my  friend  Cowan,  held  that  title  in  KCD 
tucky  by  reason  of  his  prowess. 


112  THE  CKOSSING 

Clark  had  been  standing  quietly  on  the  bank  while  1 
had  scalped  my  first  redskin.  Then  he  called  Tom 
McChesney  to  him  and  questioned  him  closely  about  our 
journey,  the  signs  we  had  seen,  and,  finally,  the  news 
in  the  Watauga  settlements.  While  this  was  going  on 
the  others  gathered  round  them. 

"What  now?"  asked  Cowan,  when  he  had  finished. 

"  Back  to  Harrodstown,"  answered  the  Colonel,  shortly. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  followed  by  a  hoarse  murmur 
from  a  thick-set  man  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  who  shoul 
dered  his  way  to  the  centre  of  it. 

"  We  set  out  to  hunt  a  fight,  and  my  pluck  is  to  clean 
up.  We  ain't  finished  'em  yet." 

The  man  had  a  deep,  coarse  voice  that  was  a  piece  with 
his  roughness. 

"  I  reckon  this  band  ain't  a-goin'  to  harry  the  station 
any  more,  McGary,"  cried  Cowan. 

"  By  Job,  what  did  we  come  out  for  ?  Who'll  take  the 
trail  with  me  ?  " 

There  were  some  who  answered  him,  and  straightway 
they  began  to  quarrel  among  themselves,  filling  the 
woods  with  a  babel  of  voices.  While  I  stood  listening  to 
these  disputes  with  a  boy's  awe  of  a  man's  quarrel,  what 
was  my  astonishment  to  feel  a  hand  on  my  shoulder.  It 
was  Colonel  Clark's,  and  he  was  not  paying  the  least 
attention  to  the  dispute. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  you  look  as  if  you  could  make  a  fire." 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  gasping. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  make  one." 

I  lighted  a  piece  of  punk  with  the  flint,  and,  wrapping 
it  up  in  some  dry  brush,  soon  had  a  blaze  started.  Look 
ing  up,  I  caught  his  eye  on  me  again. 

"Mrs.  McChesney,"  said  Colonel  Clark  to  Polly  Ann, 
"  you  look  as  if  you  could  make  johnny-cake.  Have  you 
any  meal  ?  " 

"  That  I  have,"  cried  Polly  Ann,  "  though  it's  fair 
mouldy.  Davy,  run  and  fetch  it." 

I  ran  to  the  pack  on  the  sorrel  mare.  When  I  returned 
Mr.  Clark  said:  — 


ON  THE  WILDERNESS  TRAIL  113 

"That  seems  a  handy  boy,  Mrs.  McChesney." 

"  Handy  !  "  cried  Polly  Ann,  "  I  reckon  he's  more  than 
handy.  Didn't  he  save  my  life  twice  on  our  way  out 
here  ?  " 

"  And  how  was  that  ?  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  Run  and  fetch  some  water,  Davy,"  said  Polly  Ann, 
and  straightway  launched  forth  into  a  vivid  description 
of  my  exploits,  as  she  mixed  the  meal.  Nay,  she  went  so 
far  as  to  tell  how  she  came  by  me.  The  young  Colonel 
listened  gravely,  though  with  a  gleam  now  and  then  in 
his  blue  eyes.  Leaning  on  his  long  rifle,  he  paid  no  man 
ner  of  attention  to  the  angry  voices  near  by,  —  which 
conduct  to  me  was  little  short  of  the  marvellous. 

"  Now,  Davy,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  the  rest  of  your 
history." 

"  There  is  little  of  it,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  I  was  born 
in  the  Yadkin  country,  lived  alone  with  my  father,  who 
was  a  Scotchman.  He  hated  a  man  named  Cameron, 
took  me  to  Charlestown,  and  left  me  with  some  kin  of  his 
who  had  a  place  called  Temple  Bow,  and  went  off  to 
fight  Cameron  and  the  Cherokees."  There  I  gulped. 
"  He  was  killed  at  Cherokee  Ford,  and  —  and  I  ran 
away  from  Temple  Bow,  and  found  Polly  Ann." 

This  time  I  caught  something  of  surprise  on  the  Colo 
nel's  face. 

"  By  thunder,  Davy,"  said  he,  "  but  you  have  a  clean 
gift  for  brief  narrative.  Where  did  you  learn  it  ?  " 

"  My  father  was  a  gentleman  once,  and  taught  me  to 
speak  and  read,"  I  answered,  as  I  brought  a  flat  piece  of 
limestone  for  Polly  Ann's  baking. 

"  And  what  would  you  like  best  to  be  when  you  grow 
up,  Davy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Six  feet,"  said  I,  so  promptly  that  he  laughed. 

"  Faith,"  said  Polly  Ann,  looking  at  me  comically,  "he 
may  be  many  things,  but  I'll  warrant  he'll  never  be  that." 

I  have  often  thought  since  that  young  Mr.  Clark 
showed  much  of  the  wisdom  of  the  famous  king  of  Israel 
on  that  day.  Polly  Ann  cooked  a  piece  of  a  deer  which 
one  of  the  woodsmen  had  with  him,  and  the  quarrel  died 


114  THE  CROSSING 

of  itself  when  we  sat  down  to  this  and  the  johnny-cake. 
By  noon  we  had  taken  up  the  trace  for  Harrodstown, 
marching  with  scouts  ahead  and  behind.  Mr.  Clark 
walked  mostly  alone,  seemingly  wrapped  in  thought.  At 
times  he  had  short  talks  with  different  men,  oftenest 
—  I  noted  with  pride  —  with  Tom  McChesney.  And 
more  than  once  when  he  halted  he  called  me  to  him,  my 
answers  to  his  questions  seeming  to  amuse  him.  Indeed, 
I  became  a  kind  of  pet  with  the  backwoodsmen,  Cowan 
often  flinging  me  to  his  shoulder  as  he  swung  along.  The 
pack  was  taken  from  the  sorrel  mare  and  divided  among 
the  party,  .and  Polly  Ann  made  to  ride  that  we  might  move 
the  faster. 

It  must  have  been  the  next  afternoon,  about  four,  that 
the  rough  stockade  of  Harrodstown  greeted  our  eyes  as 
we  stole  cautiously  to  the  edge  of  the  forest.  And  the 
sight  of  no  roofs  and  spires  could  have  been  more  wel 
come  than  that  of  these  logs  and  cabins,  broiling  in  the 
midsummer  sun.  At  a  little  distance  from  the  fort,  a 
silent  testimony  of  siege,  the  stumpy,  cleared  fields  were 
overgrown  with  weeds,  tall  and  rank,  the  corn  choked. 
Nearer  the  stockade,  where  the  keepers  of  the  fort  might 
venture  out  at  times,  a  more  orderly  growth  met  the  eye. 
It  was  young  James  Ray  whom  Colonel  Clark  singled 
to  creep  with  our  message  to  the  gates.  At  'six, 
when  the  smoke  was  rising  from  the  stone  chimneys 
behind  the  palisades,  Ray  came  back  to  say  that  all  was 
well.  Then  we  went  forward  quickly,  hands  waved  a 
welcome  above  the  logs,  the  great  wooden  gates  swung 
open,  and  at  last  we  had  reached  the  haven  for  which  we 
had  suffered  so  much.  Mangy  dogs  barked  at  our  feet,  men 
and  women  ran  forward  joyfully  to  seize  our  hands  and 
greet  us. 

And  so  we  came  to  Kaintuckee. 


CHAPTER  X 

HARRODSTOWN 

THE  old  forts  like  Harrodstown  and  Boonesboro  and 
Logan's  at  St.  Asaph's  have  long  since  passed  away. 
It  is  many,  many  years  since  I  lived  through  that  summer 
of  siege  in  Harrodstown,  the  horrors  of  it  are  faded  and 
dim,  the  discomforts  lost  to  a  boy  thrilled  with  a  new 
experience.  I  have  read  in  my  old  age  the  books  of  trav 
ellers  in  Kentucky,  English  and  French,  who  wrote  much 
of  squalor  and  strife  and  sin  and  little  of  those  quali 
ties  that  go  to  the  conquest  of  an  empire  and  the  mak 
ing  of  a  people.  Perchance  my  own  pages  may  be 
colored  by  gratitude  and  love  for  the  pioneers  amongst 
whom  I  found  myself,  and  thankfulness  to  God  that  we 
had  reached  them  alive. 

I  know  not  how  many  had  been  cooped  up  in  the  lit 
tle  fort  since  the  early  spring,  awaiting  the  chance  to  go 
back  to  their  weed-choked  clearings.  The  fort  at  Harrods 
town  was  like  an  hundred  others  I  have  since  seen,  but 
sufficiently  surprising  to  me  then.  Imagine  a  great  paral 
lelogram  made  of  log  cabins  set  end  to  end,  their  common 
outside  wall  being  the  wall  of  the  fort,  and  loopholed.  At 
the  four  corners  of  the  parallelogram  the  cabins  jutted 
out,  with  ports  in  the  angle  in  order  to  give  a  flanking 
fire  in  case  the  savages  reached  the  palisade.  And  then 
there  were  huge  log  gates  with  watch-towers  on  either  side, 
where  sentries  sat  day  and  night  scanning  the  forest  line. 
Within  the  fort  was  a  big  common  dotted  with  forest 
trees,  where  such  cattle  as  had  been  saved  browsed  on 
the  scanty  grass.  There  had  been  but  the  one  scrawny 
horse  before  our  arrival. 

115 


116  THE  CROSSING 

And  the  settlers  !  How  shall  I  describe  them  as  they 
crowded  around  us  inside  the  gate  ?  Some  stared  at  us 
with  sallow  faces  and  eyes  brightened  by  the  fever,  yet 
others  had  the  red  glow  of  health.  Many  of  the  men  wore 
rough  beards,  unkempt,  and  yellow,  weather-worn  hunting 
shirts,  often  stained  with  blood.  The  barefooted  women 
wore  sunbonnets  and  loose  homespun  gowns,  some  of  linen 
made  from  nettles,  while  the  children  swarmed  here  and 
there  and  everywhere  in  any  costume  that  chance  had 
given  them.  All  seemingly  talking  at  once,  they  plied  us 
with  question  after  question  of  the  trace,  the  Watauga 
settlements,  the  news  in  the  Carolinys,  and  how  the  war 
went. 

"A  lad  is  it,  this  one,"  said  an  Irish  voice  near  me, 
"  and  a  woman  !  The  dear  help  us,  and  who'd  'ave  thought 
to  see  a  woman  come  over  the  mountain  this  year  1  Where 
did  ye  find  them,  Bill  Cowan  ?  " 

"  Near  the  Crab  Orchard,  and  the  lad  killed  and  sculped 
a  six-foot  brave." 

"  The  saints  save  us  !     And  what  '11  be  his  name  ?  " 

"  Davy,"  said  my  friend. 

"  Is  it  Davy  ?     Sure  his  namesake  killed  a  giant,  too." 

"  And  is  he  come  along,  also  ?  "  said  another.  His  shy 
blue  eyes  and  stiff  blond  hair  gave  him  a  strange  appear 
ance  in  a  hunting  shirt. 

"  Hist  to  him  !  Who  will  ye  be  talkin'  about,  Poulsson  ? 
Is  it  King  David  ye  mane  ?  " 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  this  was  my  introduc 
tion  to  Terence  McCann  and  Swein  Poulsson.  The  fort 
being  crowded,  we  were  put  into  a  cabin  with  Terence  and 
Cowan  and  Cowan's  wife  —  a  tall,  gaunt  woman  with  a 
sharp  tongue  and  a  kind  heart  —  and  her  four  brats,  "  All 
hugemsmug  together,"  as  Cowan  said.  And  that  night 
we  supped  upon  dried  buffalo  meat  and  boiled  nettle-tops, 
for  of  such  was  the  fare  in  Harrodstown  that  summer. 

"Tom  McChesney  kept  his  faith."  One  other  man 
was  to  keep  his  faith  with  the  little  community  —  George 
Rogers  Clark.  And  I  soon  learned  that  trustworthiness 
is  held  in  greater  esteem  in  a  border  community  than  any- 


HAEEODSTOWN  117 

where  else.  Of  course,  the  love  of  the  frontier  was  in  the 
grain  of  these  men.  But  what  did  they  come  back  to  ? 
Day  after  day  would  the  sun  rise  over  the  forest  and  beat 
down  upon  the  little  enclosure  in  which  we  were  penned. 
The  row  of  cabins  leaning  against  the  stockade  marked  the 
boundaries  of  our  diminutive  world.  Beyond  them,  in 
visible,  lurked  a  relentless  foe.  Within,  the  greater  souls 
alone  were  calm,  and  a  man's  worth  was  set  down  to  a 
hair's  breadth.  Some  were  always  to  be  found  squatting 
on  their  door-steps  cursing  the  hour  which  had  seen  them 
depart  for  this  land  ;  some  wrestled  and  fought  on  the 
common,  for  a  fist  fight  with  a  fair  field  and  no  favor  was 
a  favorite  amusement  of  the  backwoodsmen.  My  big 
friend,  Cowan,  was  the  champion  of  these,  and  often  of  an 
evening  the  whole  of  the  inhabitants  would  gather  near 
the  spring  to  see  him  fight  those  who  had  the  courage  to 
stand  up  to  him.  His  muscles  were  like  hickory  wood,  and 
I  have  known  a  man  insensible  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
after  one  of  his  blows.  Strangely  enough,  he  never  fought 
in  anger,  and  was  the  first  to  the  spring  for  a  gourd  of 
water  after  the  fight  was  over.  But  Tom  McChesney  was 
the  best  wrestler  of  the  lot,  and  could  make  a  wider  leap 
than  any  other  man  in  Harrodstown. 

Tom's  reputation  did  not  end  there,  for  he  became  one 
of  the  two  breadwinners  of  the  station.  I  would  better 
have  said  meatwinneTS.  Woe  be  to  the  incautious  who, 
lulled  by  a  week  of  fancied  security,  ventured  out  into  the 
dishevelled  field  for  a  little  food !  In  the  early  days  of 
the  siege  man  after  man  had  gone  forth  for  game,  never 
to  return.  Until  Tom  came,  one  only  had  been  success 
ful,  —  that  lad  of  seventeen,  whose  achievements  were  the 
envy  of  my  boyish  soul,  James  Ray.  He  slept  in  the  cabin 
next  to  Cowan's,  and  long  before  the  dawn  had  revealed 
the  forest  line  had  been  wont  to  steal  out  of  the  gates 
on  the  one  scrawny  horse  the  Indians  had  left  them,  gain 
the  Salt  River,  and  make  his  way  thence  through  the  water 
to  some  distant  place  where  the  listening  savages  could 
not  hear  his  shot.  And  now  Tom  took  his  turn.  Often 
did  I  sit  with  Polly  Ann  till  midnight  in  the  sentry's 


118  THE   CROSSING 

tower,  straining  my  ears  for  the  owl's  hoot  that  warned  us 
of  his  coming.  Sometimes  he  was  empty-handed,  but 
sometimes  a  deer  hung  limp  and  black  across  his  saddle,  or 
a  pair  of  turkeys  swung  from  his  shoulder. 

"  Arrah,  darlin',' '  said  Terence  to  Polly  Ann,  "  'tis  yer 
husband  and  James  is  the  jools  av  the  fort.  Sure  I  niver 
loved  me  father  as  I  do  thim." 

I  would  have  given  kingdoms  in  those  days  to  have 
been  seventeen  and  James  Ray.  When  he  was  in  the  fort 
1  dogged  his  footsteps,  and  listened  with  a  painful  yearn 
ing  to  the  stories  of  his  escapes  from  the  roving  bands. 
And  as  many  a  character  is  watered  in  its  growth  by  hero- 
worship,  so  my  own  grew  firmer  in  the  contemplation  of 
Ray's  resourcefulness.  My  strange  life  had  far  removed 
me  from  lads  of  my  own  age,  and  he  took  a  fancy  to  me, 
perhaps  because  of  the  very  persistence  of  my  devotion 
to  him.  I  cleaned  his  gun,  filled  his  powder  flask,  and 
ran  to  do  his  every  bidding. 

I  used  in  the  hot  summer  days  to  lie  under  the  elm  tree 
and  listen  to  the  settlers'  talk  about  a  man  named  Hender 
son,  who  had  bought  a  great  part  of  Kentucky  from  the 
Indians,  and  had  gone  out  with  Boone  to  found  Boones- 
boro  some  two  years  before.  They  spoke  of  much  that  I 
did  not  understand  concerning  the  discountenance  by  Vir 
ginia  of  these  claims,  speculating  as  to  whether  Hender 
son's  grants  were  good.  For  some  of  them  held  these 
grants,  and  others  Virginia  grants  —  a  fruitful  source  of 
quarrel  between  them.  Some  spoke,  too,  of  Washington 
and  his  ragged  soldiers  going  up  and  down  the  old  colo 
nies  and  fighting  for  a  freedom  which  there  seemed  little 
chance  of  getting.  But  their  anger  seemed  to  blaze  most 
fiercely  when  they  spoke  of  a  mysterious  British  general 
named  Hamilton,  whom  they  called  "  the  ha'r  buyer,"  and 
who  from  his  stronghold  in  the  north  country  across  the 
great  Ohio  sent  down  these  hordes  of  savages  to  harry  us. 
I  learned  to  hate  Hamilton  with  the  rest,  and  pictured 
him  with  the  visage  of  a  fiend.  We  laid  at  his  door  every 
outrage  that  had  happened  at  the  three  stations,  and  put 
upon  him  the  blood  of  those  who  had  been  carried  off  to 


HAKKODSTOWN  119 

torture  in  the  Indian  villages  of  the  northern  forests. 
And  when  —  amidst  great  excitement  —  a  spent  runner 
would  arrive  from  Boonesboro  or  St.  Asaph's  and  beg  Mr. 
Clark  for  a  squad,  it  was  commonly  with  the  first  breath 
that  came  into  his  body  that  he  cursed  Hamilton. 

So  the  summer  wore  away,  while  we  lived  from  hand 
to  mouth  on  such  scanty  fare  as  the  two  of  them  shot  and 
what  we  could  venture  to  gather  in  the  unkempt  fields 
near  the  gates.  A  winter  of  famine  lurked  ahead,  and 
men  were  goaded  near  to  madness  at  the  thought  of  clear 
ings  made  and  corn  planted  in  the  spring  within  reach  of 
their  hands,  as  it  were,  and  they  might  not  harvest  it. 
At  length,  when  a  fortnight  had  passed,  and  Tom  and  Ray 
had  gone  forth  day  after  day  without  sight  or  fresh  sign 
of  Indians,  the  weight  lifted  from  our  hearts.  There  were 
many  things  that  might  yet  be  planted  and  come  to  matu 
rity  before  the  late  Kentucky  frosts. 

The  pressure  within  the  fort,  like  a  flood,  opened  the 
gates  of  it,  despite  the  sturdily  disapproving  figure  of  a 
young  man  who  stood  silent  under  the  sentry  box,  leaning 
on  his  Deckard.  He  was  Colonel  George  Rogers  Clark,1 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  backwoodsmen  of  Kentucky, 
whose  power  was  reenforced  by  that  strange  thing  called 
an  education.  It  was  this,  no  doubt,  gave  him  command 
of  words  when  he  chose  to  use  them. 

"  Faith,"  said  Terence,  as  we  passed  him,  "  'tis  a  foine 
man  he  is,  and  a  gintleman  born.  Wasn't  it  him  gathered 
the  Convintion  here  in  Harrodstown  last  year  that  chose 
him  and  another  to  go  to  the  Virginia  legislatoor  ?  And 
him  but  a  lad,  ye  might  say.  The  divil  fly  away  wid  his 
caution !  Sure  the  redskins  is  as  toired  as  us,  and  gone 
home  to  the  wives  and  childher,  bad  cess  to  thim." 

And  so  the  first  day  the  gates  were  opened  we  went 
into  the  fields  a  little  way  ;  and  the  next  day  a  little  far 
ther.  They  had  once  seemed  to  me  an  unexplored  and  for 
bidden  country  as  I  searched  them  with  my  eyes  from  the 
sentry  boxes.  And  yet  I  felt  a  shame  to  go  with  Polly 

1  It  appears  that  Mr.  Clark  had  not  yet  received  the  title  of  Colonel, 
though  he  held  command.  —  EDITOR. 


120  THE  CROSSING 

Ann  and  Mrs.  Cowan  and  the  women  while  James  Ray 
and  Tom  sat  with  the  guard  of  men  between  us  and  the 
forest  line.  Like  a  child  on  a  holiday,  Polly  Ann  ran 
hither  and  thither  among  the  stalks,  her  black  hair  flying 
and  a  song  on  her  lips. 

"  Soon  we'll  be  having  a  little  home  of  our  own,  Davy," 
she  cried  ;  "  Tom  has  the  place  chose  on  a  knoll  by  the 
river,  and  the  land  is  rich  with  hickory  and  pawpaw.  I 
reckon  we  may  be  going  there  next  week." 

Caution  being  born  into  me  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
vice,  I  said  nothing.  Whereupon  she  seized  me  in  her 
strong  hands  and  shook  me. 

"  Ye  little  imp  !  "  said  she,  while  the  women  paused  in 
their  work  to  laugh  at  us. 

"The  boy  is  right,  Polly  Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Harrod, 
"  and  he's  got  more  sense  than  most  of  the  men  in  the  fort." 

"  Ay,  that  he  has,"  the  gaunt  Mrs.  Cowan  put  in,  eying 
me  fiercely,  while  she  gave  one  of  her  own  offsprings  a 
slap  that  sent  him  spinning. 

Whatever  Polly  Ann  might  have  said  would  have  been 
to  the  point,  but  it  was  lost,  for  just  then  the  sound  of  a 
shot  came  down  the  wind,  and  a  half  a  score  of  women 
stampeded  through  the  stalks,  carrying  me  down  like  a 
reed  before  them.  When  I  staggered  to  my  feet  Polly 
Ann  and  Mrs.  Cowan  and  Mrs.  Harrod  were  standing 
alone.  For  there  was  little  of  fear  in  those  three. 

"  Shucks !  "  said  Mrs.  Cowan,  "  I  reckon  it's  that  Jim 
Ray  shooting  at  a  mark,"  and  she  began  to  pick  nettles 
again. 

"  Vimmen  is  a  shy  critter,"  remarked  Swein  Poulsson, 
coming  up.  I  had  a  shrewd  notion  that  he  had  run  with 
the  others. 

"  Wimmen  !  "  Mrs.  Cowan  fairly  roared.  "  Wimmen ! 
Tell  us  how  ye  went  in  March  with  the  boys  to  fight  the 
varmints  at  the  Sugar  Orchard,  Swein  !  " 

We  all  laughed,  for  we  loved  him  none  the  less.  His 
little  blue  eyes  were  perfectly  solemn  as  he  answered  :  — 

"  Ve  send  you  fight  Injuns  mit  your  tongue,  Mrs.  Cowan. 
Then  we  haf  no  more  troubles." 


HAKRODSTOWN  121 

"  Land  of  Canaan !  "  cried  she,  "  I  reckon  I  could  do 
more  harm  with  it  than  you  with  a  gun." 

There  were  many  such  false  alarms  in  the  bright  days 
following,  and  never  a  bullet  sped  from  the  shadow  of  the 
forest.  Each  day  we  went  farther  afield,  and  each  night 
trooped  merrily  in  through  the  gates  with  hopes  of  homes 
and  clearings  rising  in  our  hearts  —  until  the  motionless 
figure  of  the  young  Virginian  met  our  eye.  It  was  then 
that  men  began  to  scoff  at  him  behind  his  back,  though 
some  spoke  with  sufficient  backwoods  bluntness  to  his 
face.  And  yet  he  gave  no  sign  of  anger  or  impatience. 
Not  so  the  other  leaders.  No  sooner  did  the  danger  seem 
past  than  bitter  strife  sprang  up  within  the  walls.  Even 
the  two  captains  were  mortal  enemies.  One  was  Harrod, 
a  tall,  spare,  dark-haired  man  of  great  endurance,  —  a 
type  of  the  best  that  conquered  the  land  for  the  nation ; 
the  other,  that  Hugh  McGary  of  whom  I  have  spoken, 
coarse  and  brutal,  if  you  like,  but  fearless  and  a  leader  of 
men  withal. 

A  certain  Sunday  morning,  I  remember,  broke  with  a 
cloud-flecked  sky,  and  as  we  were  preparing  to  go  afield 
with  such  ploughs  as  could  be  got  together  (we  were  to 
sow  turnips)  the  loud  sounds  of  a  quarrel  came  from  the 
elm  at  the  spring.  With  one  accord  men  and  women  and 
children  flocked  thither,  and  as  we  ran  we  heard  McGary's 
voice  above  the  rest.  Worming  my  way,  boylike,  through 
the  crowd,  I  came  upon  McGary  and  Harrod  glaring  at 
each  other  in  the  centre  of  it. 

"  By  Job  !  there's  no  devil  if  I'll  stand  back  from  my 
clearing  and  waste  the  rest  of  the  summer  for  the  fears  of 
a  pack  of  cowards.  I'll  take  a  posse  and  march  to  Sha- 
wanee  Springs  this  day,  and  see  any  man  a  fair  fight  that 
tries  to  stop  me." 

"  And  who's  in  command  here  ?  "  demanded  Harrod. 

"  I  am,  for  one,"  said  McGary,  with  an  oath,  "  and  my 
corn's  on  the  ear.  I've  held  back  long  enough,  I  tell  you, 
and  I'll  starve  this  winter  for  you  nor  any  one  else." 

Harrod  turned. 

"  Where's  Clark  ?  "  he  said  to  Bowman. 


122  THE   CROSSING 

"  Clark  !  "  roared  McGary,  "  Clark  be  d— d.  Ye'd  think 
he  was  a  woman."  He  strode  up  to  Harrod  until  their 
faces  almost  touched,  and  his  voice  shook  with  the  inten 
sity  of  his  anger.  "  By  G — d,  you  nor  Clark  nor  any  one 
else  will  stop  me,  I  say  !  "  He  swung  around  and  faced 
the  people.  "  Come  on,  boys  !  We'll  fetch  that  corn,  or 
know  the  reason  why." 

A  responding  murmur  showed  that  the  bulk  of  them 
were  with  him.  Weary  of  the  pent-up  life,  longing  for 
action,  and  starved  for  a  good  meal,  the  anger  of  his  many 
followers  against  Clark  and  Harrod  was  nigh  as  great  as 
his.  He  started  roughly  to  shoulder  his  way  out,  and 
whether  from  accident  or  design  Captain  Harrod  slipped 
in  front  of  him,  I  never  knew.  The  thing  that  followed 
happened  quickly  as  the  catching  of  my  breath.  I  saw 
McGary  powdering  his  pan,  and  Harrod  his,  and  felt  the 
crowd  giving  back  like  buffalo.  All  at  once  the  circle 
had  vanished,  and  the  two  men  were  standing  not  five 
paces  apart  with  their  rifles  clutched  across  their  bodies, 
each  watching,  catlike,  for  the  other  to  level.  It  was  a 
cry  that  startled  us  —  and  them.  There  was  a  vision  of  a 
woman  flying  across  the  common,  and  we  saw  the  daunt 
less  Mrs.  Harrod  snatching  her  husband's  gun  from  his 
resisting  hands.  So  she  saved  his  life  and  McGary's. 

At  this  point  Colonel  Clark  was  seen  coming  from  the 
gate.  When  he  got  to  Harrod  and  McGary  the  quarrel 
blazed  up  again,  but  now  it  was  between  the  three  of 
them,  and  Clark  took  Harrod's  rifle  from  Mrs.  Harrod 
and  held  it.  However,  it  was  presently  decided  that 
McGary  should  wait  one  more  day  before  going  to  his 
clearing  ;  whereupon  the  gates  were  opened,  the  picked 
men  going  ahead  to  take  station  as  a  guard,  and  soon  we 
were  hard  at  work,  ploughing  here  and  mowing  there, 
and  in  another  place  putting  seed  in  the  ground  :  in  the 
cheer  of  the  work  hardships  were  forgotten,  and  we  paused 
now  and  again  to  laugh  at  some  sally  of  Terence  McCann's 
or  odd  word  of  Swein  Poulsson's.  As  the  day  wore  on 
to  afternoon  a  blue  haze  —  harbinger  of  autumn  —  set 
tled  over  fort  and  forest.  Bees  hummed  in  the  air  as  thej 


HAKKODSTOWN  123 

searched  hither  and  thither  amongst  the  flowers,  or  shot 
straight  as  a  bullet  for  a  distant  hive.  But  presently  a 
rifle  cracked,  and  we  raised  our  heads. 

"  Hist  !  "  said  Terence,  "  the  bhoys  on  watch  is  that 
warlike  !  Whin  there's  no  redskins  to  kill  they  must  be 
wastin'  good  powdher  on  a  three." 

I  leaped  upon  a  stump  and  scanned  the  line  of  sentries 
between  us  and  the  woods  ;  only  their  heads  and  shoul 
ders  appeared  above  the  rank  growth.  I  saw  them  look 
ing  from  one  to  another  questioningly,  some  shouting 
words  I  could  not  hear.  Then  I  saw  some  running  ;  and 
next,  as  I  stood  there  wondering,  came  another  crack,  and 
then  a  volley  like  the  noise  of  a  great  fire  licking  into 
dry  wood,  and  things  that  were  not  bees  humming  round 
about.  A  distant  man  in  a  yellow  hunting  shirt  stumbled, 
and  was  drowned  in  the  tangle  as  in  water.  Around  me 
men  dropped  plough-handles  and  women  baskets,  and  as 
we  ran  our  legs  grew  numb  and  our  bodies  cold  at  a 
sound  which  had  haunted  us  in  dreams  by  night  —  the  war- 
whoop.  The  deep  and  guttural  song  of  it  rose  and  fell 
with  a  horrid  fierceness.  An  agonized  voice  was  in  my 
ears,  and  I  halted,  ashamed.  It  was  Polly  Ann's. 

"  Davy  !  "  she  cried,  "  Davy,  have  ye  seen  Tom  ?  " 

Two  men  dashed  by.  I  seized  one  by  the  fringe  of  his 
shirt,  and  he  flung  me  from  my  feet.  The  other  leaped  me 
as  I  knelt. 

"  Run,  ye  fools  !  "  he  shouted.  But  we  stood  still,  with 
yearning  eyes  staring  back  through  the  frantic  forms  for 
a  sight  of  Tom's. 

"  I'll  go  back  !  "  I  cried,  "  I'll  go  back  for  him.  Do  you 
run  to  the  fort."  For  suddenly  I  seemed  to  forget  my  fear, 
nor  did  even  the  hideous  notes  of  the  scalp  halloo  disturb 
me.  Before  Polly  Ann  could  catch  me  I  had  turned  and 
started,  stumbled,  —  I  thought  on  a  stump,  —  and  fallen 
headlong  among  the  nettles  with  a  stinging  pain  in  my  leg. 
Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  tried  to  run  on,  fell  again,  and 
putting  down  my  hand  found  it  smeared  with  blood.  A 
man  came  by,  paused  an  instant  while  his  eye  caught  me, 
and  ran  on  again.  I  shall  remember  his  face  and  name 


124  THE   CEOSSING 

to  my  dying  day  ;  but  there  is  no  reason  to  put  it  down 
here.  In  a  few  seconds'  space  as  I  lay  I  suffered  all  the 
pains  of  captivity  and  of  death  by  torture,  that  cry  of 
savage  man  an  hundred  times  more  frightful  than  savage 
beast  sounding  in  my  ears,  and  plainly  nearer  now  by 
half  the  first  distance.  Nearer,  and  nearer  yet  —  and  then 
I  heard  my  name  called.  I  was  lifted  from  the  ground, 
and  found  myself  in  the  lithe  arms  of  Polly  Ann. 

"  Set  me  down  !  "  I  screamed,  "  set  me  down  !  "  and 
must  have  added  some  of  the  curses  I  had  heard  in  the 
fort.  But  she  clutched  me  tightly  (God  bless  the  memory 
of  those  frontier  women !),  and  flew  like  a  deer  toward 
the  gates.  Over  her  shoulder  I  glanced  back.  A  spare 
three  hundred  yards  away  in  a  ragged  line  a  hundred 
red  devils  were  bounding  after  us  with  feathers  flying 
and  mouths  open  as  they  yelled.  Again  I  cried  to  her  to 
set  me  down  ;  but  though  her  heart  beat  faster  and  her 
breath  came  shorter,  she  held  me  the  tighter.  Second  by 
second  they  gained  on  us,  relentlessly.  Were  we  near  the 
fort?  Hoarse  shouts  answered  the  question,  but  they 
seemed  distant  —  too  distant.  The  savages  were  gaining, 
and  Polly  Ann's  breath  quicker  still.  She  staggered,  but 
the  brave  soul  had  no  thought  of  faltering.  I  had  a  sight 
of  a  man  on  a  plough  horse  with  dangling  harness  coming 
up  from  somewhere,  of  the  man  leaping  off,  of  ourselves 
being  pitched  on  the  animal's  bony  back  and  clinging 
there  at  the  gallop,  the  man  running  at  the  side.  Shots 
whistled  over  our  heads,  and  here  was  the  brown  fort. 
Its  big  gates  swung  together  as  we  dashed  through  the 
narrowed  opening.  Then,  as  he  lifted  us  off,  I  knew  that 
the  man  who  had  saved  us  was  Tom  himself.  The  gates 
closed  with  a  bang,  and  a  patter  of  bullets  beat  against 
them  like  rain. 

Through  the  shouting  and  confusion  came  a  cry  in  a 
voice  I  knew,  now  pleading,  now  commanding. 
"  Open,  open!     For  God's  sake  open!  " 
"  It's  Ray  !     Open  for  Ray  !     Ray's  out !  " 
Some  were  seizing  the  bar  to  thrust  it  back  when  the 
heavy  figure  of  McGary  crushed  into  the  crowd  beside  it. 


HAERODSTOWN  125 

"  By  Job,  I'll  shoot  the  man  that  touches  it ! "  he 
shouted,  as  he  tore  them  away.  But  the  sturdiest  of  them 
went  again  to  it,  and  cursed  him.  And  while  they  fought 
backward  and  forward,  the  lad's  mother,  Mrs.  Ray,  cried 
out  to  them  to  open  in  tones  to  rend  their  hearts.  But 
McGary  had  gained  the  bar  and  swore  (perhaps  wisely) 
that  he  would  not  sacrifice  the  station  for  one  man. 
Where  was  Ray  ? 

Where  was  Ray,  indeed  ?  It  seemed  as  if  no  man  might 
live  in  the  hellish  storm  that  raged  without  the  walls  :  as 
if  the  very  impetus  of  hate  and  fury  would  carry  the  sav 
ages  over  the  stockade  to  murder  us.  Into  the  turmoil  at 
the  gate  came  Colonel  Clark,  sending  the  disputants  this 
way  and  that  to  defend  the  fort,  McGary  to  command  one 
quarter,  Harrod  and  Bowman  another,  and  every  man  that 
could  be  found  to  a  loophole,  while  Mrs.  Ray  continued 
to  run  up  and  down,  wringing  her  hands,  now  facing  one 
man,  now  another.  Some  of  her  words  came  to  me, 
shrilly,  above  the  noise. 

"  He  fed  you  —  he  fed  you.  Oh,  my  God,  and  you  are 
grateful  —  grateful  !  When  you  were  starving  he  risked 
his  life  — " 

Torn  by  anxiety  for  my  friend,  I  dragged  myself  into 
the  nearest  cabin,  and  a  man  was  fighting  there  in  the  half- 
light  at  the  port.  The  huge  figure  I  knew  to  be  my  friend 
Cowan's,  and  when  he  drew  back  to  load  I  seized  his  arm, 
shouting  Ray's  name.  Although  the  lead  was  pattering 
on  the  other  side  of  the  logs,  Cowan  lifted  me  to  the  port. 
And  there,  stretched  on  the  ground  behind  a  stump,  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  walls,  was  James.  Even  as  I  looked 
the  puffs  of  dust  at  his  side  showed  that  the  savages  knew 
his  refuge.  I  saw  him  level  and  fire,  and  then  Bill  Cowan 
set  me  down  and  began  to  ram  in  a  charge  with  tremen 
dous  energy. 

Was  there  no  way  to  save  Ray  ?  I  stood  turning  this 
problem  in  my  mind,  subconsciously  aware  of  Cowan's 
movements  :  of  his  yells  when  he  thought  he  had  made  a 
shot,  when  Polly  Ann  appeared  at  the  doorway.  Darting 
in,  she  fairly  hauled  me  to  the  shake-down  in  the  far  corner. 


126  THE   CROSSING 

"  Will  ye  bleed  to  death,  Davy  ? "  she  cried,  as  she 
slipped  off  my  legging  and  bent  over  the  wound.  Her 
eye  lighting  on  a  gourdful  of  water  on  the  puncheon 
table,  she  tore  a  strip  from  her  dress  and  washed  and 
bound  me  deftly.  The  bullet  was  in  the  flesh,  and  gave 
me  no  great  pain. 

"Lie  there,  ye  imp!"  she  commanded,  when  she  had 
finished. 

"  Some  one's  under  the  bed,"  said  I,  for  I  had  heard  a 
movement. 

In  an  instant  we  were  down  on  our  knees  on  the  hard 
dirt  floor,  and  there  was  a  man's  foot  in  a  moccasin  !  We 
both  grabbed  it  and  pulled,  bringing  to  life  a  person  with 
little  blue  eyes  and  stiff  blond  hair. 

"  Swein  Poulsson  !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann,  giving  him 
an  involuntary  kick,  "  may  the  devil  give  ye  shame  !  " 

Swein  Poulsson  rose  to  a  sitting  position  and  clasped 
his  knees  in  his  hands. 

"  I  haf  one  great  fright,"  said  he. 

"  Send  him  into  the  common  with  the  women  in  yere 
place,  Mis'  McChesney,"  growled  Cowan,  who  was  load 
ing. 

"  By  tarn  !  "  said  Swein  Poulsson,  leaping  to  his  feet, 
"I  vill  stay  here  und  fight.  I  am  prave  once  again." 
Stooping  down,  he  searched  under  the  bed,  pulled  out  his 
rifle,  powdered  the  pan,  and  flying  to  the  other  port,  fired. 
At  that  Cowan  left  his  post  and  snatched  the  rifle  from 
Poulsson's  hands. 

"  Ye're  but  wasting  powder,"  he  cried  angrily. 

"  Then,  by  tarn,  I  am  as  veil  under  the  bed,"  said  Pouls 
son.  "  Vat  can  I  do  ?  " 

I  had  it. 

"  Dig  !  "  I  shouted  ;  and  seizing  the  astonished  Cowan's 
tomahawk  from  his  belt  I  set  to  work  furiously  chopping 
at  the  dirt  beneath  the  log  wall.  "  Dig,  so  that  James  can 
get  under." 

Cowan  gave  me  the  one  look,  swore  a  mighty  oath,  and 
leaping  to  the  port  shouted  to  Ray  in  a  thundering  voice 
what  we  were  doing. 


HAKRODSTOWN  127 

"  Dig  !  "  roared  Cowan.  "  Dig,  for  the  love  of  God,  for 
he  can't  hear  me." 

The  three  of  us  set  to  work  with  all  our  might,  Poulsson 
making  great  holes  in  the  ground  at  every  stroke,  Polly 
Ann  scraping  at  the  dirt  with  the  gourd.  Two  feet  below 
the  surface  we  struck  the  edge  of  the  lowest  log,  and  then 
it  was  Poulsson  who  got  into  the  hole  with  his  hunting 
knife  —  perspiring,  muttering  to  himself,  working  as  one 
possessed  with  a  fury,  while  we  scraped  out  the  dirt  from 
under  him.  At  length,  after  what  seemed  an  age  of  star 
ing  at  his  legs,  the  ground  caved  on  him,  and  he  would 
have  smothered  if  we  had  not  dragged  him  out  by  the 
heels,  sputtering  and  all  powdered  brown.  But  there  was 
the  daylight  under  the  log. 

Again  Cowan  shouted  at  Ray,  and  again,  but  he  did  not 
understand.  It  was  then  the  miracle  happened.  I  have 
seen  brave  men  and  cowards  since,  and  I  am  as  far  as  ever 
from  distinguishing  them.  Before  we  knew  it  Poulsson 
was  in  the  hole  once  more  —  had  wriggled  out  of  it  on  the 
other  side,  and  was  squirming  in  a  hail  of  bullets  towards 
Ray.  There  was  a  full  minute  of  suspense  —  perhaps  two 
—  during  which  the  very  rifles  of  the  fort  were  silent 
(though  the  popping  in  the  weeds  was  redoubled),  and 
then  the  barrel  of  a  Deckard  was  poked  through  the  hole. 
After  it  came  James  Ray  himself,  and  lastly  Poulsson,  and 
a  great  shout  went  out  from  the  loopholes  and  was  taken 
up  by  the  women  in  the  common. 


Swein  Poulsson  had  become  a  hero,  nor  was  he  willing 
to  lose  any  of  the  glamour  which  was  a  hero's  right.  As 
the  Indians'  fire  slackened,  he  went  from  cabin  to  cabin, 
and  if  its  occupants  failed  to  mention  the  exploit  (some 
did  fail  so  to  do,  out  of  mischief),  Swein  would  say  :  — 

"  You  did  not  see  me  safe  James,  no  ?  I  vill  tell  you 
joost  how." 

It  never  leaked  out  that  Swein  was  first  of  all  under 
the  bed,  for  Polly  Ann  and  Bill  Cowan  and  myself  swore 
to  keep  the  secret.  But  they  told  how  I  had  thought  of 


128  THE  CROSSING 

digging  the  hole  under  the  logs  —  a  happy  circumstance 
which  got  me  a  reputation  for  wisdom  beyond  my  years. 
There  was  a  certain  Scotchman  at  Harrodstown  called 
McAndrew,  and  it  was  he  gave  me  the  nickname  "  Canny 
Davy,"  and  I  grew  to  have  a  sort  of  precocious  fame 
in  the  station.  Often  Captain  Harrod  or  Bowman  or 
some  of  the  others  would  pause  in  their  arguments  and 
say  gravely,  "  What  does  Davy  think  of  it  ?  "  This  was 
not  good  for  a  boy,  and  the  wonder  of  it  is  that  it  did  not 
make  me  altogether  insupportable.  One  effect  it  had  on 
me  —  to  make  me  long  even  more  earnestly  to  be  a  man. 

The  impulse  of  my  reputation  led  me  farther.  A  fort 
night  of  more  inactivity  followed,  and  then  we  ventured 
out  into  the  fields  once  more.  But  I  went  with  the  guard 
this  time,  not  with  the  women,  —  thanks  to  a  whim  the 
men  had  for  humoring  me. 

"  Arrah,  and  beant  he  a  man  all  but  two  feet,"  said 
Terence,  "wid  more  brain  than  me  an'  Bill  Cowan  and 
Poulsson  togither?  'Tis  a  fox's  nose  Davy  has  for  the 
divils,  Bill.  Sure  he  can  smell  thim  the  same  as  you  an' 
me  kin  see  the  red  paint  on  their  faces." 

"  I  reckon  that's  true,"  said  Bill  Cowan,  with  solemnity, 
and  so  he  carried  me  off. 

At  length  the  cattle  were  turned  out  to  browse  greedily 
through  the  clearing,  while  we  lay  in  the  woods  by  the 
forest  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  their  bells;  but  when 
they  strayed  too  far,  I  was  often  sent  to  drive  them  back. 
Once  when  this  happened  I  followed  them  to  the  shade 
at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  for  it  was  noon,  and  the  sun 
beat  down  fiercely.  And  there  I  sat  for  some  time  watch 
ing  them  as  they  lashed  their  sides  with  their  tails  and 
pawed  the  ground,  for  experience  is  a  good  master. 
Whether  or  not  the  flies  were  all  that  troubled  them  I 
could  not  tell,  and  no  sound  save  the  tinkle  of  their  bells 
broke  the  noonday  stillness.  Making  a  circle  I  drove 
them  back  toward  the  fort,  much  troubled  in  mind.  I 
told  Cowan,  but  he  laughed  and  said  it  was  the  flies. 
Yet  I  was  not  satisfied,  and  finally  stole  back  again  to  the 
place  where  I  had  found  them.  I  sat  a  long  time  hidden 


HABBODSTOWN  129 

at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  listening  until  my  imagination 
tricked  me  into  hearing  those  noises  which  I  feared  and 
yet  longed  for.  Trembling,  I  stole  a  little  farther  in  the 
shade  of  the  woods,  and  then  a  little  farther  still.  The 
leaves  rustled  in  the  summer's  breeze,  patches  of  sun 
light  flickered  on  the  mould,  the  birds  twittered,  and  the 
squirrels  scolded.  A  chipmunk  frightened  me  as  he  flew 
chattering  along  a  log.  And  yet  I  went  on.  I  came 
to  the  creek  as  it  flowed  silently  in  the  shade,  stepped  in, 
and  made  my  way  slowly  down  it,  I  know  not  how  far, 
walking  in  the  water,  my  eye  alert  to  every  movement 
about  me.  At  length  I  stopped  and  caught  my  breath. 
Before  me,  in  a  glade  opening  out  under  great  trees,  what 
seemed  a  myriad  of  forked  sticks  were  piled  against  one 
another,  three  by  three,  and  it  struck  me  all  in  a  heap 
that  I  had  come  upon  a  great  encampment.  But  the 
skeletons  of  the  pyramid  tents  alone  remained.  Where 
were  the  skins  ?  Was  the  camp  deserted  ? 

For  a  while  I  stared  through  the  brier  leaves,  then  I 
took  a  venture,  pushed  on,  and  found  myself  in  the  midst 
of  the  place.  It  must  have  held  near  a  thousand  warriors. 
All  about  me  were  gray  heaps  of  ashes,  and  bones  of  deer 
and  elk  and  buffalo  scattered,  some  picked  clean,  some 
with  the  meat  and  hide  sticking  to  them.  Impelled  by  a 
strong  fascination,  I  went  hither  and  thither  until  a  sound 
brought  me  to  a  stand — the  echoing  crack  of  a  distant  rifle. 
On  the  heels  of  it  came  another,  then  several  together,  and 
a  faint  shouting  borne  on  the  light  wind.  Terrorized,  I 
sought  for  shelter.  A  pile  of  brush  underlain  by  ashes  was 
by,  and  I  crept  into  that.  The  sounds  continued,  but 
seemed  to  come  no  nearer,  and  my  courage  returning,  I  got 
out  again  and  ran  wildly  through  the  camp  toward  the 
briers  on  the  creek,  expecting  every  moment  to  be  tumbled 
headlong  by  a  bullet.  And  when  I  reached  the  briers, 
what  between  panting  and  the  thumping  of  my  heart  I 
could  for  a  few  moments  hear  nothing.  Then  I  ran  on 
again  up  the  creek,  heedless  of  cover,  stumbling  over  logs 
and  trailing  vines,  when  all  at  once  a  dozen  bronze  forms 
glided  with  the  speed  of  deer  across  my  path  ahead. 


130  THE  CEOSSING 

They  splashed  over  the  creek  and  were  gone.  Bewildered 
with  fear,  I  dropped  under  a  fallen  tree.  Shouts  were 
in  my  ears,  and  the  noise  of  men  running.  I  stood  up, 
and  there,  not  twenty  paces  away,  was  Colonel  Clark  him 
self  rushing  toward  me.  He  halted  with  a  cry,  raised  his 
rifle,  and  dropped  it  at  the  sight  of  my  queer  little  figure 
covered  with  ashes. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried,  "it's  Davy." 

"  They  crossed  the  creek,"  I  shouted,  pointing  the  way, 
"they  crossed  the  creek,  some  twelve  of  them." 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  staring  at  me,  and  by  this  time  the  rest 
of  the  guard  were  come  up.  They  too  stared,  with  differ 
ent  exclamations  on  their  lips,  —  Cowan  and  Bowman  and 
Tom  McChesney  and  Terence  McCann  in  front. 

"  And  there's  a  great  camp  below,"  I  went  on,  "  de 
serted,  where  a  thousand  men  have  been." 

"  A  camp  —  deserted  ?  "  said  Clark,  quickly. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "yes."  But  he  had  already  started  for 
ward  and  seized  me  by  the  arm. 

"Lead  on,"  he  cried,  "show  it  to  us.'*  He  went  ahead 
with  me,  travelling  so  fast  that  I  must  needs  run  to  keep 
up,  and  fairly  lifting  me  over  the  logs.  But  when  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  place  he  darted  forward  alone  and  went 
through  it  like  a  hound  on  the  trail.  The  others  followed 
him,  crying  out  at  the  size  of  the  place  and  poking  among 
the  ashes.  At  length  they  all  took  up  the  trail  for  a  way 
down  the  creek.  Presently  Clark  called  a  halt. 

"  I  reckon  that  they've  made  for  the  Ohio,"  he  said. 
And  at  this  judgment  from  him  the  guard  gave  a  cheer 
that  might  almost  have  been  heard  in  the  fields  around  the 
fort.  The  terror  that  had  hovered  over  us  all  that  long 
summer  was  lifted  at  last. 

You  may  be  sure  that  Cowan  carried  me  back  to  the 
station.  "  To  think  it  was  Davy  that  found  it  !  "  he  cried 
again  and  again,  "  to  think  it  was  Davy  found  it  !  " 

"  And  wasn't  it  me  that  said  he  could  smell  the  divils," 
said  Terence,  as  he  circled  around  us  in  a  mimic  war  dance. 
And  when  from  the  fort  they  saw  us  coming  across  the 
fields  they  opened  the  gates  in  astonishment,  and  on  hear- 


HAEKODSTOWN  131 

ing  the  news  gave  themselves  over  to  the  wildest  rejoicing. 
For  the  backwoodsmen  were  children  of  nature.  Bill 
Cowan  ran  for  the  fiddle  which  he  had  carried  so  carefully 
over  the  mountain^  and  that  night  we  had  jigs  and  reels 
on  the  common  while  the  big  fellow  played  "  Billy  of  the 
Wild  Woods  "  and  "  Jump  Juba,"  with  all  his  might,  and 
the  pine  knots  threw  their  fitful,  red  light  on  the  wild 
scenes  of  merriment.  I  must  have  cut  a  queer  little  figure 
as  I  sat  between  Cowan  and  Tom  watching  the  dance,  for 
presently  Colonel  Clark  came  up  to  us,  laughing  in  his 
quiet  way. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  there  is  another  great  man  here  who 
would  like  to  see  you,"  and  led  me  away  wondering.  I  went 
with  him  toward  the  gate,  burning  all  over  with  pride  at 
this  attention,  and  beside  a  torch  there  a  broad-shouldered 
figure  was  standing,  at  sight  of  whom  I  had  a  start  of 
remembrance. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  is,  Davy  ?  "  said  Colonel  Clark. 

"  It's  Mr.  Daniel  Boone,"  said  I. 

"  By  thunder,"  said  Clark,  "  I  believe  the  boy  is  a 
wizard,"  while  Mr.  Boone's  broad  mouth  was  creased  into 
a  smile,  and  there  was  a  trace  of  astonishment,  too,  in  his 
kindly  eye. 

"  Mr.  Boone  came  to  my  father's  cabin  on  the  Yadkin 
once,"  I  said ;  "  he  taught  me  to  skin  a  deer." 

"  Ay,  that  I  did,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Boone,  "  and  I  said 
ye'd  make  a  woodsman  sometime." 

Mr.  Boone,  it  seemed,  had  come  over  from  Boonesboro 
to  consult  with  Colonel  Clark  on  certain  matters,  and  had 
but  just  arrived.  But  so  modest  was  he  that  he  would 
not  let  it  be  known  that  he  was  in  the  station,  for  fear  of 
interrupting  the  pleasure.  He  was  much  the  same  as  I 
had  known  him,  only  grown  older  and  his  reputation  now 
increased  to  vastness.  He  and  Clark  sat  on  a  door  log 
talking  for  a  long  time  on  Kentucky  matters,  the  strength 
of  the  forts,  the  prospect  of  new  settlers  that  autumn,  of 
the  British  policy,  and  finally  of  a  journey  which  Colonel 
Clark  was  soon  to  make  back  to  Virginia  across  the  moun 
tains.  They  seemed  not  to  mind  my  presence.  At  length 


132  THE  CROSSING 

Colonel  Clark  turned  to  me  with  that  quiet,  jocose  way  he 
had  when  relaxed. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  we'll  see  how  much  of  a  general  you 
are.  What  would  you  do  if  a  scoundrel  named  Hamilton 
far  away  at  Detroit  was  bribing  all  the  redskins  he  could 
find  north  of  the  Ohio  to  come  down  and  scalp  your  men?  " 

"  I'd  go  for  Hamilton,"  I  answered. 

"  By  God !  "  exclaimed  Clark,  striking  Mr.  Boone  on 
the  knee,  "  that's  what  I'd  do." 


CHAPTER  XI 

FRAGMENTARY 

MR.  BOONE'S  visit  lasted  but  a  day.  I  was  a  great  deal 
•with  Colonel  Clark  in  the  few  weeks  that  followed  before 
his  departure  for  Virginia.  He  held  himself  a  little  aloof 
(as  a  leader  should)  from  the  captains  in  the  station, 
without  seeming  to  offend  them.  But  he  had  a  fancy  for 
James  Ray  and  for  me,  and  he  often  took  me  into  the 
woods  with  him  by  day,  and  talked  with  me  of  an 
evening. 

"  I'm  going  away  to  Virginia,  Davy,"  he  said ;  "  will 
you  not  go  with  me  ?  We'll  see  Williamsburg,  and  come 
back  in  the  spring,  and  I'll  have  you  a  little  rifle  made." 

My  look  must  have  been  wistful. 

"  I  can't  leave  Polly  Ann  and  Tom,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  like  that.  Faith  to  your  friends  is 
a  big  equipment  for  life." 

"  But  why  are  you  going?"  I  asked. 

"Because  I  love  Kentucky  best  of  all  things  in  the 
world,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  insisted. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  I  can't  tell  even  to  you." 

"To  catch  Hamilton?"  I  ventured  at  random. 

He  looked  at  me  queerly. 

"Would  you  go  along,  Davy?"  said  he,  laughing  now. 

"  Would  you  take  Tom?  " 

"  Among  the  first,"  answered  Colonel  Clark,  heartily. 

We  were  seated  under  the  elm  near  the  spring,  and  at 
that  instant  I  saw  Tom  coming  toward  us.  I  jumped  up, 
thinking  to  please  him  by  this  intelligence,  when  Colonel 
Clark  pulled  me  down  again. 

133 


134  THE  CROSSING 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  almost  roughly,  I  thought,  "  remember 
that  we  have  been  joking.  Do  you  understand?  —  joking. 
You  have  a  tongue  in  your  mouth,  but  sense  enough  in 
your  head,  I  believe,  to  hold  it."  He  turned  to  Tom. 
"McChesney,  this  is  a  queer  lad  you  brought  us,"  said 
he. 

"  He's  a  little  deevil,"  agreed  Tom,  for  that  had  become 
a  formula  with  him. 

It  was  all  very  mysterious  to  me,  and  I  lay  awake  many 
a  night  with  curiosity,  trying  to  solve  a  puzzle  that  was 
none  of  my  business.  And  one  day,  to  cap  the  matter, 
two  woodsmen  arrived  at  Harrodstown  with  clothes  frayed 
and  bodies  lean  from  a  long  journey.  Not  one  of  the 
hundred  questions  with  which  they  were  beset  would  they 
answer,  nor  say  where  they  had  been  or  why,  save  that 
they  had  carried  out  certain  orders  of  Clark,  who  was 
locked  up  with  them  in  a  cabin  for  several  hours. 

The  first  of  October,  the  day  of  Colonel  Clark's  de 
parture,  dawned  crisp  and  clear.  He  was  to  take  with 
him  the  disheartened  and  the  cowed,  the  weaklings  who 
loved  neither  work  nor  exposure  nor  danger.  And  before 
he  set  out  of  the  gate  he  made  a  little  speech  to  the 
assembled  people. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  "you  know  me.  I  put  the 
interests  of  Kentucky  before  my  own.  Last  year  when 
I  left  to  represent  her  at  Williamsburg  there  were  some 
who  said  I  would  desert  her.  It  was  for  her  sake  I  made 
that  journey,  suffered  the  tortures  of  hell  from  scalded 
feet,  was  near  to  dying  in  the  mountains.  It  was  for  her 
sake  that  I  importuned  the  governor  and  council  for 
powder  and  lead,  and  when  they  refused  it  I  said  to  them, 
'  Gentlemen,  a  country  that  is  not  worth  defending  is  not 
worth  claiming.' ' 

At  these  words  the  settlers  gave  a  great  shout,  waving 
their  coonskin  hats  in  the  air. 

"Ay,  that  ye  did,"  cried  Bill  Cowan,  "and  got  the 
amminition." 

"I  made  that  journey  for  her  sake,  I  say,"  Colonel 
Clark  continued,  "and  even  so  I  am  making  this  one. 


FRAGMENTARY  135 

I  pray  you  trust  me,  and  God  bless  and  keep  you  while 
I  am  gone." 

He  did  not  forget  to  speak  to  me  as  he  walked  be 
tween  our  lines,  and  told  me  to  be  a  good  boy  and  that 
he  would  see  me  in  the  spring.  Some  of  the  women  shed 
tears  as  he  passed  through  the  gate,  and  many  of  us 
climbed  to  sentry  box  and  cabin  roof  that  we  might  see 
the  last  of  the  little  company  wending  its  way  across  the 
fields.  A  motley  company  it  was,  the  refuse  of  the  station, 
headed  by  its  cherished  captain.  So  they  started  back 
over  the  weary  road  that  led  to  that  now  far-away  land  of 
civilization  and  safety. 

During  the  balmy  Indian  summer,  when  the  sharper  lines 
of  nature  are  softened  by  the  haze,  some  came  to  us  from 
across  the  mountains  to  make  up  for  the  deserters.  From 
time  to  time  a  little  group  would  straggle  to  the  gates  of 
the  station,  weary  and  footsore,  but  overjoyed  at  the  sight 
of  white  faces  again:  the  fathers  walking  ahead  with 
watchful  eyes,  the  women  and  older  children  driving  the 
horses,  and  the  babies  slung  to  the  pack  in  hickory  withes. 
Nay,  some  of  our  best  citizens  came  to  Kentucky  swing 
ing  to  the  tail  of  a  patient  animal.  The  Indians  were  still 
abroad,  and  in  small  war  parties  darted  hither  and  thither 
with  incredible  swiftness.  And  at  night  we  would  gather 
at  the  fire  around  our  new  emigrants  to  listen  to  the 
stories  they  had  to  tell,  —  familiar  stories  to  all  of  us. 
Sometimes  it  had  been  the  gobble  of  a  wild  turkey  that 
had  lured  to  danger,  again  a  wood-owl  had  cried  strangely 
in  the  night. 

Winter  came,  and  passed  —  somehow.  I  cannot  dwell 
here  on  the  tediousness  of  it,  and  the  one  bright  spot  it 
has  left  in  my  memory  concerns  Polly  Ann.  Did  man, 
woman,  or  child  fall  sick,  it  was  Polly  Ann  who  nursed 
them.  She  had  by  nature  the  God-given  gift  of  healing, 
knew  by  heart  all  the  simple  remedies  that  backwoods 
lore  had  inherited  from  the  north  of  Ireland  or  borrowed 
from  the  Indians.  Her  sympathy  and  loving-kindness 
did  more  than  these,  her  never  tiring  and  ever  cheerful 
watchfulness.  She  was  deft,  too,  was  Polly  Ann,  and 


136  THE  CROSSING 

spun  from  nettle  bark  many  a  cut  of  linen  that  could 
scarce  be  told  from  flax.  Before  the  sap  began  to  run 
again  in  the  maples  there  was  not  a  soul  in  Harrodstown 
who  did  not  love  her,  and  I  truly  believe  that  most  of 
them  would  have  risked  their  lives  to  do  her  bidding. 

Then  came  the  sugaring,  the  warm  days  and  the  freezing 
nights  when  the  earth  stirs  in  her  sleep  and  the  taps  drip 
from  red  sunrise  to  red  sunset.  Old  and  young  went  to 
the  camps,  the  women  and  children  boiling  and  graining, 
the  squads  of  men  posted  in  guards  round  about.  And 
after  that  the  days  flew  so  quickly  that  it  seemed  as  if  the 
woods  had  burst  suddenly  into  white  flower,  and  it  was 
spring  again.  And  then  —  a  joy  to  be  long  remembered 
—  I  went  on  a  hunting  trip  with  Tom  and  Cowan  and 
three  others  where  the  Kentucky  tumbles  between  its 
darkly  wooded  cliffs.  And  other  wonders  of  that  strange 
land  I  saw  then  for  the  first  time :  great  licks,  trampled 
down  for  acres  by  the  wild  herds,  where  the  salt  water 
oozes  out  of  the  hoofprints.  On  the  edge  of  one  of  these 
licks  we  paused  and  stared  breathless  at  giant  bones  stick 
ing  here  and  there  in  the  black  mud,  and  great  skulls  of 
fearful  beasts  half-embedded.  This  was  called  the  Big 
Bone  Lick,  and  some  travellers  that  went  before  us  had 
made  their  tents  with  the  thighs  of  these  monsters  of  a 
past  age. 

A  danger  past  is  oft  a  danger  forgotten.  Men  went  out 
to  build  the  homes  of  which  they  had  dreamed  through  the 
long  winter.  Axes  rang  amidst  the  white  dogwoods  and 
the  crabs  and  redbuds,  and  there  were  riotous  log-raisings 
in  the  clearings.  But  I  think  the  building  of  Tom's  house 
was  the  most  joyous  occasion  of  all,  and  for  none  in  the 
settlement  would  men  work  more  willingly  than  for  him 
and  Polly  Ann.  The  cabin  went  up  as  if  by  magic.  It 
stood  on  a  rise  upon  the  bank  of  the  river  in  a  grove  of 
oaks  and  hickories,  with  a  big  persimmon  tree  in  front  of 
the  door.  It  was  in  the  shade  of  this  tree  that  Polly  Ann 
sat  watching  Tom  and  me  through  the  mild  spring  days 
as  we  barked  the  roof,  and  none  ever  felt  greater  joy  and 
pride  in  a  home  than  she.  We  had  our  first  supper  on 


FRAGMENTARY  137 

a  wide  puncheon  under  the  persimmon  tree  on  the  few 
pewter  plates  we  had  fetched  across  the  mountain,  the 
blue  smoke  from  our  own  hearth  rising  in  the  valley  until 
the  cold  night  air  spread  it  out  in  a  line  above  us,  while 
the  horses  grazed  at  the  river's  edge. 

After  that  we  went  to  ploughing,  an  occupation  which 
Tom  fancied  but  little,  for  he  loved  the  life  of  a  hunter 
best  of  all.  But  there  was  corn  to  be  raised  and  fodder 
for  the  horses,  and  a  truck-patch  to  be  cleared  near  the 
house. 

One  day  a  great  event  happened,  —  and  after  the  manner 
of  many  great  events,  it  began  in  mystery.  Leaping  on 
the  roan  mare,  I  was  riding  like  mad  for  Harrodstown  to 
fetch  Mrs.  Cowan.  And  she,  when  she  heard  the  summons, 
abandoned  a  turkey  on  the  spit,  pitched  her  brats  out  of 
the  door,  seized  the  mare,  and  dashing  through  the  gates 
at  a  gallop  left  me  to  make  my  way  back  afoot.  Scenting 
a  sensation,  I  hurried  along  the  wooded  trace  at  a  dog 
trot,  and  when  I  came  in  sight  of  the  cabin  there  was  Mrs. 
Cowan  sitting  on  the  step,  holding  in  her  long  but  motherly 
arms  something  bundled  up  in  nettle  linen,  while  Tom 
stood  sheepishly  by,  staring  at  it. 

"  Shucks,"  Mrs.  Cowan  was  saying  loudly,  "  I  reckon 
ye're  as  little  use  to-day  as  Swein  Poulsson, —  standin' 
there  on  one  foot.  Ye  anger  me  —  just  grinning  at  it 
like  a  fool  —  and  yer  own  doin'.  Have  ye  forgot  how 
to  talk  ?  " 

Tom  grinned  the  more,  but  was  saved  the  effort  of  a 
reply  by  a  loud  noise  from  the  bundle. 

"  Here's  another,"  cried  Mrs.  Cowan  to  me.  "  Ye 
needn't  act  as  if  it  was  an  animal.  Faith,  yereself  was  like 
that  once,  all  red  an'  crinkled.  But  I  warrant  ye  didn't 
have  the  heft,"  and  she  lifted  it,  judicially.  "  A  grand 
baby,"  attacking  Tom  again,  "and  ye're  no  more  worthy 
to  be  his  father  than  Davy  here." 

Then  I  heard  a  voice  calling  me,  and  pushing  past  Mrs. 
Cowan,  I  ran  into  the  cabin.  Polly  Ann  lay  on  the  log 
bedstead,  and  she  turned  to  mine  a  face  radiant  with  a 
happiness  I  had  not  imagined. 


138  THE  CROSSING 

"  Oh,  Davy,  have  ye  seen  him  ?  Have  ye  seen  little 
Tom  ?  Davy,  I  reckon  I'll  never  be  so  happy  again. 
Fetch  him  here,  Mrs.  Cowan." 

Mrs.  Cowan,  with  a  glance  of  contempt  at  Tom  and  me, 
put  the  bundle  tenderly  down  on  the  coarse  brown  sheet 
beside  her. 

Poor  little  Tom  !  Only  the  first  fortnight  of  his 
existence  was  spent  in  peace.  I  have  a  pathetic  memory 
of  it  all  —  of  our  little  home,  of  our  hopes  for  it,  of  our 
days  of  labor  and  nights  of  planning  to  make  it  complete. 
And  then,  one  morning  when  Tom  and  I  were  turning 
over  the  black  loam  in  the  patch,  while  the  baby  slept 
peacefully  in  the  shade,  a  sound  came  to  our  ears  that 
made  us  pause  and  listen  with  bated  breath.  It  was  the 
sound  of  many  guns,  muffled  in  the  distant  forest.  With 
a  cry  Polly  Ann  flew  to  the  hickory  cradle  under  the  tree, 
Tom  sprang  for  the  rifle  that  was  never  far  from  his  side, 
while  with  a  kind  of  instinct  I  ran  to  catch  the  spancelled 
horses  by  the  river.  In  silence  and  sorrow  we  fled  through 
the  tall  cane,  nor  dared  to  take  one  last  look  at  the 
cabin,  or  the  fields  lying  black  in  the  spring  sunlight.  The 
shots  had  ceased,  but  ere  we  had  reached  the  little  clearing 
McCann  had  made  they  began  again,  though  as  distant  as 
before.  Tom  went  ahead,  while  I  led  the  mare  and  Polly 
Ann  clutched  the  child  to  her  breast.  But  when  we  came 
in  sight  of  the  fort  across  the  clearings  the  gates  were 
closed.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  cower  in  the  thicket, 
listening  while  the  battle  went  on  afar,  Polly  Ann  trying 
to  still  the  cries  of  the  child,  lest  they  should  bring  death 
upon  us.  At  length  the  shooting  ceased  ;  stillness  reigned  ; 
then  came  a  faint  halloo,  and  out  of  the  forest  beyond  us  a 
man  rode,  waving  his  hat  at  the  fort.  After  him  came 
others.  The  gates  opened,  and  we  rushed  pell-mell  across 
the  fields  to  safety. 

The  Indians  had  shot  at  a  party  shelling  corn  at  Cap 
tain  Bowman's  plantation,  and  killed  two,  while  the  others 
had  taken  refuge  in  the  crib.  Fired  at  from  every  brake, 
James  Ray  had  ridden  to  Harrodstown  for  succor,  and 
the  savages  had  been  beaten  off.  But  only  the  foolhardy 


FRAGMENTARY  139 

returned  to  their  clearings  now.  We  were  on  the  edge  of 
another  dreaded  summer  of  siege,  the  prospect  of  banish 
ment  from  the  homes  we  could  almost  see,  staring  us  in 
the  face,  and  the  labors  of  the  spring  lost  again.  There 
was  bitter  talk  within  the  gates  that  night,  and  many 
declared  angrily  that  Colonel  Clark  had  abandoned  us. 
But  I  remembered  what  he  had  said,  and  had  faith  in  him. 

It  was  that  very  night,  too,  I  sat  with  Cowan,  who  had 
duty  in  one  of  the  sentry  boxes,  and  we  heard  a  voice  call 
ing  softly  under  us.  Fearing  treachery,  Cowan  cried  out 
for  a  sign.  Then  the  answer  came  back  loudly  to  open  to 
a  runner  with  a  message  from  Colonel  Clark  to  Captain 
Harrod.  Cowan  let  the  man  in,  while  I  ran  for  the  cap 
tain,  and  in  five  minutes  it  seemed  as  if  every  man  and 
woman  and  child  in  the  fort  were  awake  and  crowding 
around  the  man  by  the  gates,  their  eager  faces  reddened 
by  the  smoking  pine  knots.  Where  was  Clark?  What 
had  he  been  doing  ?  Had  he  deserted  them  ? 

"  Deserted  ye  !  "  cried  the  runner,  and  swore  a  great 
oath.  Wasn't  Clark  even  then  on  the  Ohio  raising  a 
great  army  with  authority  from  the  Commonwealth  of 
Virginia  to  rid  them  of  the  red  scourge  ?  And  would 
they  desert  him  ?  Or  would  they  be  men  and  bring  from 
Harrodstown  the  company  he  asked  for  ?  Then  Captain 
Harrod  read  the  letter  asking  him  to  raise  the  company, 
and  before  day  had  dawned  they  were  ready  for  the  word 
to  march  —  ready  to  leave  cabin  and  clearing,  and  wife 
and  child,  trusting  in  Clark's  judgment  for  time  and 
place.  Never  were  volunteers  mustered  more  quickly 
than  in  that  cool  April  night  by  the  gates  of  Harrodstown 
Station. 

"  And  we'll  fetch  Davy  along,  for  luck,"  cried  Cowan, 
catching  sight  of  me  beside  him. 

"  Sure  we'll  be  wanting  a  dhrummer  b'y,"  said  McCann. 

And  so  they  enrolled  me. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   CAMPAIGN   BEGINS 

"  DAVY,  take  care  of  my  Tom,"  cried  Polly  Ann. 

I  can  see  her  now,  standing  among  the  women  by  the 
great  hewn  gateposts,  with  little  Tom  in  her  arms,  hold 
ing  him  out  to  us  as  we  filed  by.  And  the  vision  of 
his  little,  round  face  haunted  Tom  and  me  for  many  weary 
miles  of  our  tramp  through  the  wilderness.  I  have  often 
thought  since  that  that  march  of  the  volunteer  company 
to  join  Clark  at  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio  was  a  superb  ex 
ample  of  confidence  in  one  man,  and  scarce  to  be  equalled 
in  history. 

In  less  than  a  week  we  of  Captain  Harrod's  little  com 
pany  stood  on  a  forest-clad  bank,  gazing  spellbound  at  the 
troubled  waters  of  a  mighty  river.  That  river  was  the 
Ohio,  and  it  divided  us  from  the  strange  north  country 
whence  the  savages  came.  From  below,  the  angry  voice 
of  the  Great  Falls  cried  out  to  us  unceasingly.  Smoke 
rose  through  the  tree-tops  of  the  island  opposite,  and 
through  the  new  gaps  of  its  forest  cabins  could  be  seen. 
And  presently,  at  a  signal  from  us,  a  big  flatboat  left  its 
shore,  swung  out  and  circled  on  the  polished  current,  and 
grounded  at  length  in  the  mud  below  us.  A  dozen  tall 
boatmen,  buckskin-clad,  dropped  the  big  oars  and  leaped 
out  on  the  bank  with  a  yell  of  greeting.  At  the  head  of 
them  was  a  man  of  huge  frame,  and  long,  light  hair  falling 
down  over  the  collar  of  his  hunting  shirt.  He  wrung 
Captain  Harrod's  hand. 

"  That  there's  Simon  Kenton,  Davy,"  said  Cowan,  as  we 
stood  watching  them. 

I  ran  forward  for  a  better  look  at  the  backwoods  Her 
cules,  the  tales  of  whose  prowess  had  helped  to  while 

140 


THE  CAMPAIGN   BEGINS  141 

away  many  a  winter's  night  in  Harrodstown  Station.  Big- 
featured  and  stern,  yet  he  had  the  kindly  eye  of  the  most 
indomitable  of  frontier  fighters,  and  I  doubted  not  the 
truth  of  what  was  said  of  him  —  that  he  could  kill  any 
redskin  hand-to-hand. 

"  Clark's  thar,"  he  was  saying  to  Captain  Harrod.  "  God 
knows  what  his  pluck  is.  He  ain't  said  a  word." 

"  He  doesn't  say  whar  he's  going  ?  "  said  Harrod. 

"  Not  a  notion,"  answered  Kenton.  "  He's  the  greatest 
man  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  I  ever  saw.  He  kept  at  the 
governor  of  Virginny  till  he  gave  him  twelve  hundred 
pounds  in  Continentals  and  power  to  raise  troops.  Then 
Clark  fetched  a  circle  for  Fort  Pitt,  raised  some  troops 
thar  and  in  Virginny  and  some  about  Red  Stone,  and 
come  down  the  Ohio  here  with  'em  in  a  lot  of  flatboats. 
Now  that  ye've  got  here  the  Kentucky  boys  is  all  in.  I 
come  over  with  Montgomery,  and  Dillard's  here  from  the 
Holston  country  with  a  company." 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Harrod,  "  I  reckon  we'll  report." 

I  went  among  the  first  boat-load,  and  as  the  men  strained 
against  the  current,  Kenton  explained  that  Colonel  Clark 
had  brought  a  number  of  emigrants  down  the  river 
with  him ;  that  he  purposed  to  leave  them  on  this  island 
with  a  little  force,  that  they  might  raise  corn  and  provi 
sions  during  the  summer;  and  that  he  had  called  the 
place  Corn  Island. 

"  Sure,  there's  the  Colonel  himself,"  cried  Terence 
McCann,  who  was  in  the  bow,  and  indeed  I  could  pick 
out  the  familiar  figure  among  the  hundred  frontiersmen 
that  gathered  among  the  stumps  at  the  landing-place.  As 
our  keel  scraped  they  gave  a  shout  that  rattled  in  the 
forest  behind  them,  and  Clark  came  down  to  the  water 
side. 

"  I  knew  that  Harrodstown  wouldn't  fail  me,"  he  said, 
and  called  every  man  by  name  as  we  waded  ashore. 
When  I  came  splashing  along  after  Tom  he  pulled  me 
from  the  water  with  his  two  hands. 

"  Colonel,"  said  Terence  McCann,  "  we've  brought  ye  a 
dhrummer  b'y." 


142  THE  CROSSING 

"  We'd  have  no  luck  at  all  without  him,"  said  Cowan, 
and  the  men  laughed. 

"  Can  you  walk  an  hundred  miles  without  food,  Davy  ?  " 
asked  Colonel  Clark,  eying  me  gravely. 

"  Faith  he's  lean  as  a  wolf,  and  no  stomach  to  hinder 
him,"  said  Terence,  seeing  me  look  troubled.  "  I'll  not 
be  missing  the  bit  of  food  the  likes  of  him  would  eat." 

"  And  as  for  the  heft  of  him,"  added  Cowan,  "  Mac  and 
I'll  not  feel  it." 

Colonel  Clark  laughed.  "  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "  if 
you  must  have  him,  you  must.  His  Excellency  gave  me 
no  instructions  about  a  drummer,  but  we'll  take  you, 
Davy." 

In  those  days  he  was  a  man  that  wasted  no  time, 
was  Colonel  Clark,  and  within  the  hour  our  little  detach 
ment  had  joined  the  others,  felling  trees  and  shaping 
the  log-ends  for  the  cabins.  That  night,  as  Tom  and 
Cowan  and  McCann  and  James  Ray  lay  around  their  fire, 
taking  a  well-earned  rest,  a  man  broke  excitedly  into  the 
light  with  a  kettle-shaped  object  balanced  on  his  head, 
which  he  set  down  in  front  of  us.  The  man  proved  to  be 
Svvein  Poulsson,  and  the  object  a  big  drum,  and  he  straight 
way  began  to  beat  upon  it  a  tattoo  with  improvised 
drumsticks. 

"  A  Red  Stone  man,"  he  cried,  "  a  Red  Stone  man,  he 
have  it  in  the  flatboat.  It  is  for  Tavy." 

"  The  saints  be  good  to  us,"  said  Terence,  "  if  it  isn't 
the  King's  own  drum  he  has."  And  sure  enough,  on  the 
head  of  it  gleamed  the  royal  arms  of  England,  and  on  the 
other  side,  as  we  turned  it  over,  the  device  of  a  regiment. 
They  flung  the  sling  about  my  neck,  and  the  next  day, 
when  the  little  army  drew  up  for  parade  among  the  stumps, 
there  I  was  at  the  end  of  the  line,  and  prouder  than  any 
man  in  the  ranks.  And  Colonel  Clark  coming  to  my  end 
of  the  line  paused  and  smiled  and  patted  me  kindly  on 
the  cheek. 

"  Have  you  put  this  man  on  the  roll,  Harrod  ?  "  says  he. 

"No,  Colonel,"  answers  Captain  Harrod,  amid  the 
laughter  of  the  men  at  my  end. 


THE  CAMPAIGN  BEGINS  143 

"  What  !  "  says  the  Colonel,  "  what  an  oversight !  From 
this  day  he  is  drummer  boy  and  orderly  to  the  Commander- 
in-chief.  Beat  the  retreat,  my  man." 

I  did  my  best,  and  as  the  men  broke  ranks  they  crowded 
around  me,  laughing  and  joking,  and  Cowan  picked  me 
up,  drum  and  all,  and  carried  me  off,  I  rapping  furiously 
the  while. 

And  so  I  became  a  kind  of  handy  boy  for  the  whole 
regiment  from  the  Colonel  down,  for  I  was  willing  and 
glad  to  work.  I  cooked  the  Colonel's  meals,  roasting  the 
turkey  breasts  and  saddles  of  venison  that  the  hunters 
brought  in  from  the  mainland,  and  even  made  him  jour 
ney-cake,  a  trick  which  Polly  Ann  had  taught  me.  And 
when  I  went  about  the  island,  if  a  man  were  loafing,  he 
would  seize  his  axe  and  cry,  "  Here's  Davy,  he'll  tell  the 
Colonel  on  me."  Thanks  to  the  jokes  of  Terence  McCann, 
I  gained  an  owl-like  reputation  for  wisdom  amongst  these 
superstitious  backwoodsmen,  and  they  came  verily  to  be 
lieve  that  upon  my  existence  depended  the  success  of  the 
campaign.  But  day  after  day  passed,  and  no  sign  from 
Colonel  Clark  of  his  intentions. 

"  There's  a  good  lad,"  said  Terence.  "  He'll  be  telling 
us  where  we're  going." 

I  was  asked  the  same  question  by  a  score  or  more,  but 
Colonel  Clark  kept  his  own  counsel.  He  himself  was 
everywhere  during  the  days  that  followed,  superintending 
the  work  on  the  blockhouse  we  were  building,  and  eying 
the  men.  Rumor  had  it  that  he  was  sorting  out  the 
sheep  from  the  goats,  silently  choosing  those  who  were  to 
remain  on  the  island  and  those  who  were  to  take  part  in 
the  campaign. 

At  length  the  blockhouse  stood  finished  amid  the  yellow 
stumps  of  the  great  trees,  the  trunks  of  which  were  in  its 
walls.  And  suddenly  the  order  went  forth  for  the  men 
to  draw  up  in  front  of  it  by  companies,  with  the  families 
of  the  emigrants  behind  them.  It  was  a  picture  to  fix 
itself  in  a  boy's  mind,  and  one  that  I  have  never  forgot 
ten.  The  line  of  backwoodsmen,  as  fine  a  lot  of  men  as  I 
ever  wish  to  see,  bronzed  by  the  June  sun,  strong  and 


144  THE   CROSSING 

tireless  as  the  wild  animals  of  the  forest,  stood  expectant 
with  rifles  grounded.  And  beside  the  tallest,  at  the  end 
of  the  line,  was  a  diminutive  figure  with  a  drum  hung  in 
front  of  it.  The  early  summer  wind  rustled  in  the  forest, 
and  the  never  ending  song  of  the  Great  Falls  sounded 
from  afar.  Apart,  square-shouldered  and  indomitable, 
stood  a  young  man  of  twenty-six. 

"  My  friends  and  neighbors,"  he  said  in  a  firm  voice, 
"  there  is  scarce  a  man  standing  among  you  to-day  who 
has  not  suffered  at  the  hands  of  savages.  Some  of  you 
have  seen  wives  and  children  killed  before  your  eyes  — 
or  dragged  into  captivity.  None  of  you  can  to-day  call 
the  home  for  which  he  has  risked  so  much  his  own.  And 
who,  I  ask  you,  is  to  blame  for  this  hideous  war  ?  Whose 
gold  is  it  that  buys  guns  and  powder  and  lead  to  send  the 
Shawnee  and  the  Iroquois  and  Algonquin  on  the  war 
path  ?  " 

He  paused,  and  a  hoarse  murmur  of  anger  ran  along  the 
ranks. 

"  Whose  gold  but  George's,  by  the  grace  of  God  King 
of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland?  And  what  minions  dis 
tribute  it  ?  Abbott  at  Kaskaskia,  for  one,  and  Hamilton 
at  Detroit,  the  Hair  Buyer,  for  another  !  " 

When  he  spoke  Hamilton's  name  his  voice  was  nearly 
drowned  by  imprecations. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  Clark,  sternly,  and  they  were  silent. 
"  My  friends,  the  best  way  for  a  man  to  defend  himself  is 
to  maim  his  enemy.  One  year  since,  when  you  did  me  the 
honor  to  choose  me  Commander-in-chief  of  your  militia 
in  Kentucky,  I  sent  two  scouts  to  Kaskaskia.  A  dozen 
years  ago  the  French  owned  that  place,  and  St.  Vincent, 
and  Detroit,  and  the  people  there  are  still  French.  My 
men  brought  back  word  that  the  French  feared  the  Long 
Knives,  as  the  Indians  call  us.  On  the  first  of  October  I 
went  to  Virginia,  and  some  of  you  thought  again  that  I 
had  deserted  you.  I  went  to  Williamsburg  and  wrestled 
with  Governor  Patrick  Henry  and  his  council,  with  Mr. 
Jefferson  and  Mr.  Mason  and  Mr.  Wythe.  Virginia  had  no 
troops  to  send  us,  and  her  men  were  fighting  barefoot  with 


THE   CAMPAIGN  BEGINS  145 

Washington  against  the  armies  of  the  British  king.  But 
the  governor  gave  me  twelve  hundred  pounds  in  paper, 
and  with  it  I  have  raised  the  little  force  that  we  have 
here.  And  with  it  we  will  carry  the  war  into  Hamil 
ton's  country.  On  the  swift  waters  of  this  great  river 
which  flows  past  us  have  come  tidings  to-day,  and  God 
Himself  has  sent  them.  To-morrow  would  have  been  too 
late.  The  ships  and  armies  of  the  French  king  are  on 
their  way  across  the  ocean  to  help  us  fight  the  tyrant, 
and  this  is  the  news  that  we  bear  to  the  Kaskaskias. 
When  they  hear  this,  the  French  of  those  towns  will  not 
fight  against  us.  My  friends,  we  are  going  to  conquer  an 
empire  for  liberty,  and  I  can  look  onward,"  he  cried  in  a 
burst  of  inspired  eloquence,  sweeping  his  arm  to  the 
northward  toward  the  forests  on  the  far  side  of  the  Ohio, 
"  I  can  look  onward  to  the  day  when  these  lands  will  be 
filled  with  the  cities  of  a  Great  Republic.  And  who 
among  you  will  falter  at  such  a  call  ?  " 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  and  then  a  shout  went  up 
from  the  ranks  that  drowned  the  noise  of  the  Falls,  and 
many  fell  into  antics,  some  throwing  their  coonskin  hats 
in  the  air,  and  others  cursing  and  scalping  Hamilton  in 
mockery,  while  I  pounded  on  the  drum  with  all  my  might. 
But  when  we  had  broken  ranks  the  rumor  was  whispered 
about  that  the  Holston  company  had  not  cheered,  and 
indeed  the  rest  of  the  day  these  men  went  about  plainly 
morose  and  discontented,  —  some  saying  openly  (and  with 
much  justice,  though  we  failed  to  see  it  then)  that  they 
had  their  own  families  and  settlements  to  defend  from  the 
Southern  Indians  and  Chickamauga  bandits,  and  could 
not  undertake  Kentucky's  fight  at  that  time.  And  when- 
the  enthusiasm  had  burned  away  a  little  the  disaffection 
spread,  and  some  even  of  the  Kentuckians  began  to  mur 
mur  against  Clark,  for  faith  or  genius  was  needful  to 
inspire  men  to  his  plan.  One  of  the  malcontents  from 
Boonesboro  came  to  our  fire  to  argue. 

"  He's  mad  as  a  medicine  man,  is  Clark,  to  go  into  that 
country  with  less  than  two  hundred  rifles.  And  he'll 
force  us,  will  he  ?  I'd  as  lief  have  the  King  for  a  master." 


146  THE  CKOSSING 

He  brought  every  man  in  our  circle  to  his  feet,  —  Ray. 
McCann,  Cowan,  and  Tom.  But  Tom  was  nearest,  and 
words  not  coming  easily  to  him  he  fell  on  the  Boones- 
boro  man  instead,  and  they  fought  it  out  for  ten  minutes 
in  the  firelight  with  half  the  regiment  around  them.  At 
the  end  of  it,  when  the  malcontents  were  carrying  their 
champion  away,  they  were  stopped  suddenly  at  the  sight 
of  one  bursting  through  the  circle  into  the  light,  and  a 
hush  fell  upon  the  quarrel.  It  was  Colonel  Clark. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  McChesney  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  reckon  not  much,  Colonel,"  said  Tom,  grinning,  as 
he  wiped  his  face. 

"  If  any  man  deserts  this  camp  to-night,"  cried  Colonel 
Clark,  swinging  around,  "I  swear  by  God  to  have  him 
chased  and  brought  back  and  punished  as  he  deserves. 
Captain  Harrod,  set  a  guard." 

I  pass  quickly  over  the  rest  of  the  incident.  How  the 
Holston  men  and  some  others  escaped  in  the  night  in 
spite  of  our  guard,  and  swam  the  river  on  logs.  How  at 
dawn  we  found  them  gone,  and  Kenton  and  Harrod  and 
brave  Captain  Montgomery  set  out  in  pursuit,  with  Cowan 
and  Tom  and  Ray.  All  day  they  rode,  relentless,  and 
the  next  evening  returned  with  but  eight  weary  and  sullen 
fugitives  of  all  those  who  had  deserted. 

The  next  day  the  sun  rose  on  a  smiling  world,  the 
polished  reaches  of  the  river  golden  mirrors  reflecting 
the  forest's  green.  And  we  were  astir  with  the  light, 
preparing  for  our  journey  into  the  unknown  country. 
At  seven  we  embarked  by  companies  in  the  flatboats, 
waving  a  farewell  to  those  who  were  to  be  left  behind. 
Some  stayed  through  inclination  and  disaffection  :  others 
because  Colonel  Clark  did  not  deem  them  equal  to  the 
task.  But  Swein  Poulsson  came.  With  tears  in  his 
little  blue  eyes  he  had  begged  the  Colonel  to  take  him, 
and  I  remember  him  well  on  that  June  morning,  his 
red  face  perspiring  under  the  white  bristles  of  his  hair 
as  he  strained  at  the  big  oar.  For  we  must  needs  pull 
a  mile  up  the  stream  ere  we  could  reach  the  passage  in 
which  to  shoot  downward  to  the  Falls.  Suddenly  Fouls- 


THE  CAMPAIGN  BEGINS  147 

son  dropped  his  handle,  causing  the  boat  to  swing 
round  in  the  stream,  while  the  men  damned  him. 
Paying  them  no  attention,  he  stood  pointing  into  the 
blinding  disk  of  the  sun.  Across  the  edge  of  it  a  piece 
was  bitten  out  in  blackness. 

"  Mein  Gott !  "  he  cried,  "the  world  is  being  ended  just 
now." 

"  The  holy  saints  remember  us  this  day  !  "  said  Mc- 
Cann,  missing  a  stroke  to  cross  himself.  "  Will  ye  pull, 
ye  damned  Dutchman  ?  Or  we'll  be  the  first  to  slide  into 
hell.  This  is  no  kind  of  a  place  at  all,  at  all." 

By  this  time  the  men  all  along  the  line  of  boats  had 
seen  it,  and  many  faltered.  Clark's  voice  could  be  heard 
across  the  waters  urging  them  to  pull,  while  the  bows  swept 
across  the  current.  They  obeyed  him,  but  steadily  the 
blackness  ate  out  the  light,  and  a  weird  gloaming  over 
spread  the  scene.  River  and  forest  became  stern,  the 
men  silent.  The  more  ignorant  were  in  fear  of  a  cata 
clysm,  the  others  taking  it  for  an  omen. 

"  Shucks  !  "  said  Tom,  when  appealed  to,  "  I've  seed  it 
afore,  and  it  come  all  right  again." 

Clark's  boat  rounded  the  shoal :  next  our  turn  came, 
and  then  the  whole  line  was  gliding  down  the  river,  the 
rising  roar  of  the  angry  waters  with  which  we  were  soon 
to  grapple  coming  to  us  with  an  added  grimness.  And 
now  but  a  faint  rim  of  light  saved  us  from  utter  dark 
ness.  Big  Bill  Cowan,  undaunted  in  war,  stared  at  me 
with  fright  written  on  his  face. 

"  And  what  '11  ye  think  of  it,  Davy  ?  "  he  said. 

I  glanced  at  the  figure  of  our  commander  in  the  boat 
ahead,  and  took  courage. 

"  It's  Hamilton's  scalp  hanging  by  a  lock,"  I  answered, 
pointing  to  what  was  left  of  the  sun.  "  Soon  it  will  be 
off,  and  then  we'll  have  light  again." 

To  my  surprise  he  snatched  me  from  the  thwart  and 
held  me  up  with  a  shout,  and  I  saw  Colonel  Clark  turn 
and  look  back. 

"  Davy  says  the  Ha'r  Buyer's  sculp  hangs  by  the  lock, 
boys,"  he  shouted,  pointing  at  the  sun. 


148  THE   CROSSING 

The  word  was  cried  from  boat  to  boat,  and  we  could 
see  the  men  pointing  upwards  and  laughing.  And  then, 
as  the  light  began  to  grow,  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
tumbling  waters,  the  steersmen  straining  now  right,  now 
left,  to  keep  the  prows  in  the  smooth  reaches  between 
rock  and  bar.  We  gained  the  still  pools  below,  the  sun 
came  out  once  more  and  smiled  on  the  landscape,  and  the 
spirits  of  the  men,  reviving,  burst  all  bounds. 

Thus  I  earned  my  reputation  as  a  prophet. 

Four  days  and  nights  we  rowed  down  the  great  river,  our 
oars  double-manned,  for  fear  that  our  coming  might  be  her 
alded  to  the  French  towns.  We  made  our  first  camp  on  a 
green  little  island  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cherokee,  as  we 
then  called  the  Tennessee,  and  there  I  set  about  cooking  a 
turkey  for  Colonel  Clark,  which  Ray  had  shot.  Chancing 
to  look  up,  I  saw  the  Colonel  himself  watching  me. 

"  How  is  this,  Davy  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  hear  that  you  have 
saved  my  army  for  me  before  we  have  met  the  enemy." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  if  you  have  learned  to  turn  an  evil 
omen  into  a  good  sign,  you  know  more  than  some  gen 
erals.  What  ails  you  now  ?  " 

"  There's  a  pirogue,  sir,"  I  cried,  staring  and  pointing. 

"  Where? "  said  he,  alert  all  at  once.  "  Here,  McChes- 
ney,  take  a  crew  and  put  out  after  them." 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  ere  Tom  and  his  men  were 
rowing  into  the  sunset,  the  whole  of  our  little  army  watch 
ing  from  the  bank.  Presently  the  other  boat  was  seen 
coming  back  with  ours,  and  five  strange  woodsmen  stepped 
ashore,  our  men  pressing  around  them.  But  Clark  flew 
to  the  spot,  the  men  giving  back. 

"  Who's  the  leader  here  ?"  he  demanded. 

A  tall  man  stepped  forward. 

"  I  am,"  said  he,  bewildered  but  defiant. 

"  Your  name  ?  " 

"  John  Duff,"  he  answered,  as  though  against  his  will. 

"  Your  business  ?  " 

"  Hunters,"  said  Duff ;  "  and  I  reckon  we're  in  our 
rights." 


THE  CAMPAIGN   BEGINS  149 

"  I'll  judge  of  that,"  said  our  Colonel.  "  Where  are 
you  from?" 

"  That's  no  secret,  neither.     Kaskasky,  ten  days  gone." 

At  that  there  was  a  murmur  of  surprise  from  our  com 
panies.  Clark  turned. 

."  Get  your  men  back,"  he  said  to  the  captains,  who 
stood  about  them.  And  all  of  them  not  moving  :  "  Get 
your  men  back,  I  say.  I'll  have  it  known  who's  in  com 
mand  here." 

At  that  the  men  retired.  "Who  commands  at  Kas- 
kaskia  ?  "  he  demanded  of  Duff. 

"  Monseer  Rocheblave,  a  Frenchy  holding  a  British 
commission,"  said  Duff.  "  And  the  British  Governor 
Abbott  has  left  Post  St.  Vincent  and  gone  to  Detroit. 
Who  be  you  ?  "  he  added  suspiciously.  "  Be  you  Rebels  ?  " 

"  Colonel  Clark  is  my  name,  and  I  am  in  the  service  of 
the  Commonwealth  of  Virginia." 

Duff  uttered  an  exclamatory  oath  and  his  manner 
changed.  "  Be  you  Clark  ?  "  he  said  with  respect.  "  And 
you're  going  after  Kaskasky?  Wai,  the  mility  is  prime, 
and  the  Injun  scouts  is  keeping  a  good  lookout.  But, 
Colonel,  I'll  tell  ye  something:  the  Frenchies  is  etarnal 
afeard  of  the  Long  Knives.  My  God  !  they've  got  the 
notion  that  if  you  ketch  'em  you'll  burn  and  scalp  'em 
same  as  the  Red  Sticks." 

"  Good,"  was  all  that  Clark  answered. 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  know  much  about  what  the  Rebels  is 
fighting  for,"  said  John  Duff  ;  "  but  I  like  your  looks. 
Colonel,  and  wharever  you're  going  there'll  be  a  fight. 
Me  and  my  boys  would  kinder  like  to  go  along." 

Clark  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  looked  John  Duff 
and  his  men  over  carefully. 

"  Will  you  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  Virginia  and 
the  Continental  Congress  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  I  reckon  it  won't  pizen  us,"  said  John  Duff. 

"  Hold  up  your  hands,"  said  Clark,  and  they  took  the 
oath.  "Now,  my  men,"  said  he,  "you  will  be  assigned  to 
companies.  Does  any  one  among  you  know  the  old  French 
trail  from  Massacre  to  Kaskaskia  ?  " 


150  THE  CEOSSING 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  John  Duff,  "  why,  Johnny  Saunders 
here  can  tread  it  in  the  dark  like  the  road  to  the  grog 
shop." 

John  Saunders,  loose-limbed,  grinning  sheepishly,  shuf 
fled  forward,  and  Clark  shot  a  dozen  questions  at  him  one 
after  another.  Yes,  the  trail  had  been  blazed  the  Lord 
knew  how  long  ago  by  the  French,  and  given  up  when 
they  left  Massacre. 

"  Look  you,"  said  Clark  to  him,  "  I  am  not  a  man  to 
stand  trifling.  If  there  is  any  deception  in  this,  you  will 
be  shot  without  mercy." 

"  And  good  riddance,"  said  John  Duff.  "  Boys,  we're 
Rebels  now.  Steer  clear  of  the  Ha'r  Buyer." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

KASKASKIA 

FOR  one  more  day  we  floated  downward  on  the  face  of 
the  waters  between  the  forest  walls  of  the  wilderness,  and 
at  length  we  landed  in  a  little  gully  on  the  north  shore  of 
the  river,  and  there  we  hid  our  boats. 

"Davy,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  "let's  walk  about  a  bit. 
Tell  me  where  you  learned  to  be  so  silent  ?  " 

"  My  father  did  not  like  to  be  talked  to,"  I  answered, 
"except  when  he  was  drinking." 

He  gave  me  a  strange  look.  Many  the  stroll  I  took 
with  him  afterwards,  when  he  sought  to  relax  himself 
from  the  cares  which  the  campaign  had  put  upon  him. 
This  night  was  still  and  clear,  the  west  all  yellow  with  the 
departing  light,  and  the  mists  coming  on  the  river.  And 
presently,  as  we  strayed  down  the  shore  we  came  upon  a 
strange  sight,  the  same  being  a  huge  fort  rising  from  the 
waterside,  all  overgrown  with  brush  and  saplings  and  tall 
weeds.  The  palisades  that  held  its  earthenwork  were  rot 
ten  and  crumbling,  and  the  mighty  bastions  of  its  corners 
sliding  away.  Behind  the  fort,  at  the  end  farthest  from  the 
river,  we  came  upon  gravelled  walks  hidden  by  the  rank 
growth,  where  the  soldiers  of  his  most  Christian  Majesty 
once  paraded.  Lost  in  thought,  Clark  stood  on  the  para 
pet,  watching  the  water  gliding  by  until  the  darkness  hid  it, 
—  nay,  until  the  stars  came  and  made  golden  dimples  upon 
its  surface.  But  as  we  went  back  to  the  camp  again  he  told 
me  how  the  French  had  tried  once  to  conquer  this  vast 
country  and  failed,  leaving  to  the  Spaniards  the  endless 
stretch  beyond  the  Mississippi  called  Louisiana,  and  this 
part  to  the  English.  And  he  told  me  likewise  that  this 
fort  in  the  days  of  its  glory  had  been  called  Massacre,  from 

151 


152  THE  CROSSING 

a  bloody  event  which  had  happened  there  more  than  three 
score  years  before. 

"  Threescore  years  !  "  I  exclaimed,  longing  to  see  the 
men  of  this  race  which  had  set  up  these  monuments  only 
to  abandon  them. 

"  Ay,  lad,"  he  answered,  "  before  you  or  I  were  born, 
and  before  our  fathers  were  born,  the  French  missionaries 
and  soldiers  threaded  this  wilderness.  And  they  called 
this  river  'La  Belle  Riviere,' — the  Beautiful  River." 

"  And  shall  I  see  that  race  at  Kaskaskia?"  I  asked, 
wondering. 

"That  you  shall,"  he  cried,  with  a  force  that  left  no 
doubt  in  my  mind. 

In  the  morning  we  broke  camp  and  started  off  for  the 
strange  place  which  we  hoped  to  capture.  A  hundred 
miles  it  was  across  the  trackless  wilds,  and  each  man  was 
ordered  to  carry  on  his  back  provisions  for  four  days  only. 

"  Herr  Grott !  "  cried  Swein  Poulsson,  from  the  bottom 
of  a  flatboat,  whence  he  was  tossing  out  venison  flitches, 
"  four  day,  und  vat  is  it  ve  eat  then  ?  " 

"  Frenchies,  sure,"  said  Terence  ;  "  there'll  be  plenty  av 
thim  for  a  season.  Faith,  I  do  hear  they're  tinder  as 
lambs." 

"  You'll  no  set  tooth  in  the  Frenchies,"  the  pessimistic 
McAndrew  put  in,  "  wi'  five  thousand  redskins  aboot,  and 
they  lying  in  wait.  The  Colonel's  no  vera  mindful  of  that, 
I'm  thinking." 

"  Will  ye  hush,  ye  ill-omened  hound !  "  cried  Cowan, 
angrily.  "  Pitch  him  in  the  crick,  Mac  !  " 

Tom  was  diverted  from  this  duty  by  a  loud  quarrel  be 
tween  Captain  Harrod  and  five  men  of  the  company  who 
wanted  scout  duty,  and  on  the  heels  of  that  came  another 
turmoil  occasioned  by  Cowan's  dropping  my  drum  into  the 
water.  While  he  and  McCann  and  Tom  were  fishing  it 
out,  Colonel  Clark  himself  appeared,  quelled  the  mutiny 
that  Harrod  had  on  his  hands,  and  bade  the  men  sternly  to 
get  into  ranks. 

"  What  foolishness  is  this  ?  "  he  said,  eying  the  dripping 
drum. 


KASKASKIA  153 

"  Sure,  Colonel,"  said  McCann,  swinging  it  on  his  back, 
"  we'd  have  no  heart  in  us  at  Kaskasky  widout  the  rattle 
of  it  in  our  ears.  Bill  Cowan  and  me  will  not  be  feeling 
the  heft  of  it  bechune  us." 

"  Get  into  ranks,"  said  the  Colonel,  amusement  strug 
gling  with  the  anger  in  his  face  as  he  turned  on  his  heel. 
His  wisdom  well  knew  when  to  humor  a  man,  and  when 
to  chastise. 

"  Arrah,"  said  Terence,  as  he  took  his  place,  "  I'd  as 
soon  1'ave  me  gun  behind  as  Davy  and  the  dhrum." 

Methinks  I  can  see  now,  as  I  write,  the  long  file  of 
woodsmen  with  their  swinging  stride,  planting  one  foot 
before  the  other,  even  as  the  Indian  himself  threaded  the 
wilderness.  Though  my  legs  were  short,  I  had  both 
sinew  and  training,  and  now  I  was  at  one  end  of  the  line 
and  now  at  the  other.  And  often  with  a  laugh  some  giant 
would  hand  his  gun  to  a  neighbor,  swing  me  to  his  shoulder, 
and  so  give  me  a  lift  for  a  weary  mile  or  two  ;  and  per 
chance  whisper  to  me  to  put  down  my  hand  into  the 
wallet  of  his  shirt,  where  I  would  find  a  choice  morsel 
which  he  had  saved  for  his  supper.  Sometimes  I  trotted 
beside  the  Colonel  himself,  listening  as  he  talked  to  this 
man  or  that,  and  thus  I  got  the  gravest  notion  of  the  dar 
ing  of  this  undertaking,  and  of  the  dangers  ahead  of  us. 
This  north  country  was  infested  with  Indians,  allies  of  the 
English  and  friends  of  the  French  their  subjects  ;  and  the 
fact  was  never  for  an  instant  absent  from  our  minds  that 
our  little  band  might  at  any  moment  run  into  a  thousand 
warriors,  be  overpowered  and  massacred  ;  or,  worst  of  all, 
that  our  coming  might  have  been  heralded  to  Kaskaskia. 

For  three  days  we  marched  in  the  green  shade  of  the 
primeval  wood,  nor  saw  the  sky  save  in  blue  patches  here 
and  there.  Again  we  toiled  for  hours  through  the  coffee- 
colored  waters  of  the  swamps.  But  the  third  day  brought 
us  to  the  first  of  those  strange  clearings  which  the  French 
call  prairies,  where  the  long  grass  ripples  like  a  lake  in 
the  summer  wind.  Here  we  first  knew  raging  thirst,  and 
longed  for  the  loam-specked  water  we  had  scorned,  as  our 
tired  feet  tore  through  the  grass.  For  Saunders,  our 


154  THE   CROSSING 

guide,  took  a  line  across  the  open  in  plain  sight  of  any 
eye  that  might  be  watching  from  the  forest  cover.  But 
at  length  our  column  wavered  and  halted  by  reason  of 
some  disturbance  at  the  head  of  it.  Conjectures  in  our 
company,  the  rear  guard,  became  rife  at  once. 

"  Run,  Davy  darlin,'  an'  see  what  the  throuble  is,"  said 
Terence. 

Nothing  loath,  I  made  my  way  to  the  head  of  the 
column,  where  Bowman's  company  had  broken  ranks  and 
stood  in  a  ring  up  to  their  thighs  in  the  grass.  In  the 
centre  of  the  ring,  standing  on  one  foot  before  our  angry 
Colonel,  was  Saunders. 

"  Now,  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  demanded  Clark  ;  "  my 
eye  is  on  you,  and  you've  boxed  the  compass  in  this  last 
hour." 

Saunders'  jaw  dropped. 

"  I'm  guiding  you  right,"  he  answered,  with  that  sullen- 
ness  which  comes  to  his  kind  from  fear,  "  but  a  man  will 
slip  his  bearings  sometimes  in  this  country." 

Clark's  eyes  shot  fire,  and  he  brought  down  the  stock 
of  his  rifle  with  a  thud. 

"  By  the  eternal  God !  "  he  cried,  "  I  believe  you  are  a 
traitor.  I've  been  watching  you  every  step,  and  you've 
acted  strangely  this  morning." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  came  from  the  men  round  him. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  Clark,  and  turned  again  to  the  cower 
ing  Saunders.  "  You  pretend  to  know  the  way  to  Kas- 
kaskia,  you  bring  us  to  the  middle  of  the  Indian  country 
where  we  may  be  wiped  out  at  any  time,  and  now  you 
have  the  damned  effrontery  to  tell  me  that  you  have  lost 
your  way.  I  am  a  man  of  my  word,"  he  added  with  a 
vibrant  intensity,  and  pointed  to  the  limbs  of  a  giant  tree 
which  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  distant  forest.  "I  will 
give  you  half  an  hour,  but  as  I  live,  I  will  leave  you 
hanging  there." 

The  man's  brown  hand  trembled  as  he  clutched  his  rifle 
barrel. 

"  'Tis  a  hard  country,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I'm  lost.  I  swear 
it  on  the  evangels." 


KASKASKIA  155 

"  A  hard  country  !  "  cried  Clark.  "  A  man  would  have 
to  walk  over  it  but  once  to  know  it.  I  believe  you  are  a 
damned  traitor  and  perjurer, — in  spite  of  your  oath,  a 
British  spy." 

Saunders  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow  on  his  buck 
skin  sleeve. 

"  I  reckon  I  could  get  the  trace,  Colonel,  if  you'd  let  me 
go  a  little  way  into  the  prairie." 

"  Half  an  hour,"  said  Clark,  "and  you'll  not  go  alone." 
Sweeping  his  eye  over  Bowman's  company,  he  picked  out 
a  man  here  and  a  man  there  to  go  with  Saunders.  Then 
his  eye  lighted  on  me.  "  Where's  McChesney  ?  "  he  said. 
"Fetch  McChesney." 

I  ran  to  get  Tom,  and  seven  of  them  went  away,  with 
Saunders  in  the  middle,  Clark  watching  them  like  a  hawk, 
while  the  men  sat  down  in  the  grass  to  wait.  Fifteen 
minutes  went  by,  and  twenty,  and  twenty-five,  and  Clark 
was  calling  for  a  rope,  when  some  one  caught  sight  of  the 
squad  in  the  distance  returning  at  a  run.  And  when  they 
came  within  hail  it  was  Saunders'  voice  we  heard,  shout 
ing  brokenly  :  — 

"  I've  struck  it,  Colonel,  I've  struck  the  trace.  There's  a 
pecan  at  the  edge  of  the  bottom  with  my  own  blaze  on  it." 

"May  you  never  be  as  near  death  again,"  said  the 
Colonel,  grimly,  as  he  gave  the  order  to  march. 

The  fourth  day  passed,  and  we  left  behind  us  the  patches 
of  forest  and  came  into  the  open  prairie,  —  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  a  long,  level  sea  of  waving  green.  The 
scanty  provisions  ran  out,  hunger  was  added  to  the  pangs 
of  thirst  and  weariness,  and  here  and  there  in  the  strag 
gling  file  discontent  smouldered  and  angry  undertone  was 
heard.  Kaskaskia  was  somewhere  to  the  west  and  north  ; 
but  how  far  ?  Clark  had  misled  them.  And  in  addition 
it  were  foolish  to  believe  that  the  garrison  had  not  been 
warned.  English  soldiers  and  French  militia  and  Indian 
allies  stood  ready  for  our  reception.  Of  such  was  the 
talk  as  we  lay  down  in  the  grass  under  the  stars  on  the 
fifth  night.  For  in  the  rank  and  file  an  empty  stomach  is 
not  hopeful. 


156  THE  CROSSING 

The  next  morning  we  took  up  our  march  silently  with 
the  dawn,  the  prairie  grouse  whirring  ahead  of  us.  At 
last,  as  afternoon  drew  on,  a  dark  line  of  green  edged  the 
prairie  to  the  westward,  and  our  spirits  rose.  From 
mouth  to  mouth  ran  the  word  that  these  were  the  woods 
which  fringed  the  bluff  above  Kaskaskia  itself.  We 
pressed  ahead,  and  the  destiny  of  the  new  Republic  for 
which  we  had  fought  made  us  walk  unseen.  Excitement 
keyed  us  high ;  we  reached  the  shade,  plunged  into  it,  and 
presently  came  out  staring  at  the  bastioned  corners  of  a 
fort  which  rose  from  the  centre  of  a  clearing.  It  had 
once  defended  the  place,  but  now  stood  abandoned  and 
dismantled.  Beyond  it,  at  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  we  halted, 
astonished.  The  sun  was  falling  in  the  west,  and  below 
us  was  the  goal  for  the  sight  of  which  we  had  suffered  so 
much.  At  our  feet,  across  the  wooded  bottom,  was  the 
Kaskaskia  River,  and  beyond,  the  peaceful  little  French 
village  with  its  low  houses  and  orchards  and  gardens 
colored  by  the  touch  of  the  evening  light.  In  the  centre 
of  it  stood  a  stone  church  with  its  belfry  ;  but  our  search 
ing  eyes  alighted  on  the  spot  to  the  southward  of  it,  near 
the  river.  There  stood  a  rambling  stone  building  with 
the  shingles  of  its  roof  weathered  black,  and  all  around  it 
a  palisade  of  pointed  sticks  thrust  in  the  ground,  and  with 
a  pair  of  gates  and  watch-towers.  Drooping  on  its  staff 
was  the  standard  of  England.  North  and  south  of  the 
village  the  emerald  common  gleamed  in  the  slanting  light, 
speckled  red  and  white  and  black  by  grazing  cattle.  Here 
and  there,  in  untidy  brown  patches,  were  Indian  settle 
ments,  and  far  away  to  the  westward  the  tawny  Father  of 
Waters  gleamed  through  the  cotton  woods. 

Through  the  waning  day  the  men  lay  resting  under  the 
trees,  talking  in  undertones.  Some  cleaned  their  rifles, 
and  others  lost  themselves  in  conjectures  of  the  attack. 
But  Clark  himself,  tireless,  stood  with  folded  arms  gazing 
at  the  scene  below,  and  the  sunlight  on  his  face  illumined 
him  (to  the  lad  standing  at  his  side)  as  the  servant  of  des 
tiny.  At  length,  at  eventide,  the  sweet-toned  bell  of  the 
little  cathedral  rang  to  vespers,  —  a  gentle  message  of 


KASKASKIA  157 

peace  to  war.  Colonel  Clark  looked  into  my  upturned 
face. 

"  Davy,  do  you  know  what  day  this  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Two  years  have  gone  since  the  bells  pealed  for  the 
birth  of  a  new  nation  —  your  nation,  Davy,  and  mine  — 
the  nation  that  is  to  be  the  refuge  of  the  oppressed  of 
this  earth  —  the  nation  which  is  to  be  made  of  all  peoples, 
out  of  all  time.  And  this  land  for  which  you  and  I  shall 
fight  to-night  will  belong  to  it,  and  the  lands  beyond,"  he 
pointed  to  the  west,  "  until  the  sun  sets  on  the  sea  again." 
He  put  his  hand  on  my  head.  "  You  will  remember  this 
when  I  am  dead  and  gone,"  he  said. 

I  was  silent,  awed  by  the  power  of  his  words. 

Darkness  fell,  and  still  we  waited,  impatient  for  the 
order.  And  when  at  last  it  came  the  men  bustled  hither 
and  thither  to  find  their  commands,  and  we  picked  our 
way  on  the  unseen  road  that  led  down  the  bluff,  our  hearts 
thumping.  The  lights  of  the  village  twinkled  at  our  feet, 
and  now  and  then  a  voice  from  below  was  caught  and 
borne  upward  to  us.  Once  another  noise  startled  us,  fol 
lowed  by  an  exclamation,  "  Donnerblitzen "  and  a  volley 
of  low  curses  from  the  company.  Poor  Swein  Poulsson 
had  loosed  a  stone,  which  had  taken  a  reverberating  flight 
riverward. 

We  reached  the  bottom,  and  the  long  file  turned  and 
hurried  silently  northward,  searching  for  a  crossing.  I 
try  to  recall  my  feelings  as  I  trotted  beside  the  tall  forms 
that  loomed  above  me  in  the  night.  The  sense  of  protec 
tion  they  gave  me  stripped  me  of  fear,  and  I  was  not 
troubled  with  that.  My  thoughts  were  chiefly  on  Polly 
Ann  and  the  child  we  had  left  in  the  fort  now  so  far  to 
the  south  of  us,  and  in  my  fancy  I  saw  her  cheerful,  ever 
helpful  to  those  around  her,  despite  the  load  that  must 
rest  on  her  heart.  I  saw  her  simple  joy  at  our  return.  But 
should  we  return  ?  My  chest  tightened,  and  I  sped  along  the 
ranks  to  Harrod's  company  and  caught  Tom  by  the  wrist. 

"  Davy,"  he  murmured,  and,  seizing  my  hand  in  his 
strong  grip,  pulled  me  along  with  him.  For  it  was  not 


158  THE   CROSSING 

given  to  him  to  say  what  he  felt ;  but  as  I  hurried  to  keep 
pace  with  his  stride,  Polly  Ann's  words  rang  in  my  ears, 
"  Davy,  take  care  of  my  Tom,"  and  I  knew  that  he,  too, 
was  thinking  of  her. 

A  hail  aroused  me,  the  sound  of  a  loud  rapping,  and  I 
saw  in  black  relief  a  cabin  ahead.  The  door  opened, 
a  man  came  out  with  a  horde  of  children  cowering  at  his 
heels,  a  volley  of  frightened  words  pouring  from  his  mouth 
in  a  strange  tongue.  John  Duff  was  plying  him  with 
questions  in  French,  and  presently  the  man  became  calmer 
and  lapsed  into  broken  English. 

"  Kaskaskia — yes,  she  is  prepare.  Many  spy  is  gone 
out  —  cross  la  riviere.  But  now  they  all  sleep." 

Even  as  he  spoke  a  shout  came  faintly  from  the  distant 
town. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  demanded  Clark,  sharply. 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Unef£te  des  negres, 
peut-£tre, —  the  negro,  he  dance  maybe." 

"Are  you  the  ferryman  ?  "  said  Clark. 

"  Oui  —  I  have  some  boat." 

We  crossed  the  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  sluggish 
water,  squad  by  squad,  and  in  the  silence  of  the  night 
stood  gathered,  expectant,  on  the  farther  bank.  Midnight 
was  at  hand.  Commands  were  passed  about,  and  men  ran 
this  way  and  that,  jostling  one  another  to  find  their  places 
in  a  new  order.  But  at  length  our  little  force  stood  in 
three  detachments  on  the  river's  bank,  their  captains 
repeating  again  and  again  the  part  which  each  was  to 
play,  that  none  might  mistake  his  duty.  The  two  larger 
ones  were  to  surround  the  town,  while  the  picked  force 
under  Simon  Kenton  himself  was  to  storm  the  fort. 
Should  he  gain  it  by  surprise  and  without  battle,  three 
shots  were  to  be  fired  in  quick  succession,  the  other  detach 
ments  were  to  start  the  war-whoop,  while  Duff  and  some 
with  a  smattering  of  French  were  to  run  up  and  down  the 
streets  proclaiming  that  every  habitan  who  left  his  house 
would  be  shot.  No  provision  being  made  for  the  drummer 
boy  (I  had  left  my  drum  on  the  heights  above),  I  chose 
the  favored  column,  at  the  head  of  which  Tom  and  Cowan 


KASKASKIA  159 

and  Ray  and  McCann  were  striding  behind  Kenton  and 
Colonel  Clark.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  There  was  a  kind 
of  cow-path  that  rose  and  fell  and  twisted  along  the  river- 
bank.  This  we  followed,  and  in  ten  minutes  we  must  have 
covered  the  mile  to  the  now  darkened  village.  The  star 
light  alone  outlined  against  the  sky  the  houses  of  it  as  we 
climbed  the  bank.  Then  we  halted,  breathless,  in  a  street, 
but  there  was  no  sound  save  that  of  the  crickets  and  the 
frogs.  Forward  again,  and  twisting  a  corner,  we  beheld 
the  indented  edge  of  the  stockade.  Still  no  hail,  nor  had 
our  moccasined  feet  betrayed  us  as  we  sought  the  river 
side  of  the  fort  and  drew  up  before  the  big  river  gates  of 
it.  Simon  Keriton  bore  against  them,  and  tried  the  little 
postern  that  was  set  there,  but  both  were  fast.  The  spikes 
towered  a  dozen  feet  overhead. 

"  Quick  !  "  muttered  Clark,  "  a  light  man  to  go  over 
and  open  the  postern." 

Before  I  guessed  what  was  in  his  mind,  Cowan  seized 
me. 

"  Send  the  lad,  Colonel,"  said  he. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Simon  Kenton,  hoarsely. 

In  a  second  Tom  was  on  Kenton's  shoulders,  and  they 
passed  me  up  with  as  little  trouble  as  though  I  had  been  my 
own  drum.  Feverishly  searching  with  my  foot  for  Tom's 
shoulder,  I  seized  the  spikes  at  the  top,  clambered  over 
them,  paused,  surveyed  the  empty  area  below  me,  destitute 
even  of  a  sentry,  and  then  let  myself  down  with  the  aid 
of  the  cross-bars  inside.  As  I  was  feeling  vainly  for 
the  bolt  of  the  postern,  rays  of  light  suddenly  shot  my 
shadow  against  the  door.  And  next,  as  I  got  my  hand  on 
the  bolt-head,  I  felt  the  weight  of  another  on  my  shoulder, 
and  a  voice  behind  me  said  in  English :  — 

"  In  the  devil's  name  !  " 

I  gave  the  one  frantic  pull,  the  bolt  slipped,  and  caught 
again.  Then  Colonel  Clark's  voice  rang  out  in  the  night :  — 

"  Open  the  gate  !  Open  the  gate  in  the  name  of 
Virginia  and  the  Continental  Congress  !  " 

Before  I  could  cry  out  the  man  gave  a  grunt,  leaned 
his  gun  against  the  gate,  and  tore  my  fingers  from  the 


160  THE   CROSSING 

bolt-handle.  Astonishment  robbed  me  of  breath  as  he 
threw  open  the  postern. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Continental  Congress,"  he  cried, 
and  seized  his  gun.  Clark  and  Kenton  stepped  in  in 
stantly,  no  doubt  as  astounded  as  I,  and  had  the  man  in 
their  grasp. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Clark. 

"Name  o'  Skene,  f?om  Pennsylvanya,"  said  the  man, 
"and  by  the  Lord  God  ye  shall  have  the  fort." 

"  You  looked  for  us  ?  "  said  Clark. 

"Faith,  never  less,"  said  the  Pennsylvanian.  "The 
one  sentry  is  at  the  main  gate." 

"  And  the  governor  ?  " 

"  Rocheblave  ?  "  said  the  Pennsylvanian.  "  He  sleeps 
yonder  in  the  old  Jesuit  house  in  the  middle." 

Clark  turned  to  Tom  McChesney,  who  was  at  his  elbow. 

"  Corporal  !  "  said  he,  swiftly,  "  secure  the  sentry  at  the 
main  gate  !  You,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Pennsyl 
vanian,  "lead  us  to  the  governor.  But  mind,  if  you 
betray  me,  I'll  be  the  first  to  blow  out  your  brains." 

The  man  seized  a  lantern  and  made  swiftly  over  the 
level  ground  until  the  rubble-work  of  the  old  Jesuit  house 
showed  in  the  light,  nor  Clark  nor  any  of  them  stopped  to 
think  of  the  danger  our  little  handful  ran  at  the  mercy  of 
a  stranger.  The  house  was  silent.  We  halted,  and  Clark 
threw  himself  against  the  rude  panels  of  the  door,  which 
gave  to  inward  blackness.  Our  men  filled  the  little  pas 
sage,  and  suddenly  we  found  ourselves  in  a  low-ceiled 
room  in  front  of  a  great  four-poster  bed.  And  in  it,  up 
right,  blinking  at  the  light,  were  two  odd  Frenchified 
figures  in  tasselled  nightcaps.  Astonishment  and  anger 
and  fear  struggled  in  the  faces  of  Monsieur  de  Roche 
blave  and  his  lady.  A  regard  for  truth  compels  me  to 
admit  that  it  was  madame  who  first  found  her  voice,  and 
no  uncertain  one  it  was. 

First  came  a  shriek  that  might  have  roused  the  garri 
son. 

"  Villains  I  Murderers  !  Outragers  of  decency  !  "  she 
cried  with  spirit,  pouring  a  heap  of  invectives,  now  in 


KASKASKIA  161 

French,  now  in  English,  much  to  the  discomfiture  of  our 
backwoodsmen,  who  peered  at  her  helplessly. 

"Nom  du  diable  !  "  cried  the  commandant,  when  his  lady's 
breath  was  gone,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,  sir,"  answered  Clark,  promptly,  "  that  you 
are  my  prisoner." 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  gasped  the  commandant. 

"  George  Rogers  Clark,  Colonel  in  the  service  of  the 
Commonwealth  of  Virginia."  He  held  out  his  hand  re- 
strainingly,  for  the  furious  Monsieur  Rocheblave  made  an 
attempt  to  rise.  "  You  will  oblige  me  by  remaining  in 
bed,  sir,  for  a  moment." 

"  Coquins  !     Canailles  !     CocTions  !  "  shrieked  the  lady. 

"  Madame,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  politely,  "  the  necessi 
ties  of  war  are  often  cruel." 

He  made  a  bow,  and  paying  no  further  attention  to 
the  torrent  of  her  reproaches  or  the  threats  of  the  helpless 
commandant,  he  calmly  searched  the  room  with  the  lan 
tern,  and  finally  pulled  out  from  under  the  bed  a  metal 
despatch  box.  Then  he  lighted  a  candle  in  a  brass  can 
dlestick  that  stood  on  the  simple  walnut  dresser,  and 
bowed  again  to  the  outraged  couple  in  the  four-poster. 

"  Now,  sir,"  he  said,  "  you  may  dress.     We  will  retire." 

"  Pardieu  !  "  said  the  commandant  in  French,  "  a  hun 
dred  thousand  thanks." 

We  had  scarcely  closed  the  bedroom  door  when  three 
shots  were  heard. 

"  The  signal  !  "  exclaimed  Clark. 

Immediately  a  pandemonium  broke  on  the  silence  of  the 
night  that  must  have  struck  cold  terror  in  the  hearts  of 
the  poor  Creoles  sleeping  in  their  beds.  The  war-whoop, 
the  scalp  halloo  in  the  dead  of  the  morning,  with  the  hid 
eous  winding  notes  of  them  that  reached  the  bluff  beyond 
and  echoed  back,  were  enough  to  frighten  a  man  from  his 
senses.  In  the  intervals,  in  backwoods  French,  John  Duff 
and  his  companions  were  heard  in  terrifying  tones  crying 
out  to  the  Jiabitans  to  venture  out  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 
Within  the  fort  a  score  of  lights  flew  up  and  down  like 
will-o'-the-wisps,  and  Colonel  Clark,  standing  on  the  steps 


162  THE  CROSSING 

of  the  governor's  house,  gave  out  his  orders  and  despatched 
his  messengers.  Me  he  sent  speeding  through  the  village 
to  tell  Captain  Bowman  to  patrol  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  that  no  runner  might  get  through  to  warn  Fort 
Chartres  and  Cohos,  as  some  called  Cahokia.  None  stirred 
save  the  few  Indians  left  in  the  place,  and  these  were 
brought  before  Clark  in  the  fort,  sullen  and  defiant,  and 
put  in  the  guard-house  there.  And  Rocheblave,  when 
he  appeared,  was  no  better,  and  was  put  back  in  his  house 
under  guard. 

As  for  the  pai)ers  in  the  despatch  box,  they  revealed  I 
know  not  what  oriberies  of  the  savage  nations  and  plans 
of  the  English.  But  of  other  papers  we  found  none, 
though  there  must  have  been  more.  Madame  Rocheblave 
was  suspected  of  having  hidden  some  in  the  inviolable 
portions  of  her  dress. 

At  length  the  cocks  crowing  for  day  proclaimed  the 
morning,  and  while  yet  the  blue  shadow  of  the  bluff  was 
on  the  town,  Colonel  Clark  sallied  out  of  the  gate  and 
walked  abroad.  Strange  it  seemed  that  war  had  come  to 
this  village,  so  peaceful  and  remote.  And  even  stranger 
it  seemed  to  me  to  see  these  Arcadian  homes  in  the  midst 
of  the  fierce  wilderness.  The  little  houses  with  their 
sloping  roofs  and  wide  porches,  the  gardens  ablaze  with 
color,  the  neat  palings,  —  all  were  a  restful  sight  for  our 
weary  eyes.  And  now  I  scarcely  knew  our  commander. 
For  we  had  not  gone  far  ere,  timidly,  a  door  opened  and 
a  mild-visaged  man,  in  the  simple  workaday  smock  that 
the  French  wore,  stood,  hesitating,  on  the  steps.  The  odd 
thing  was  that  he  should  have  bowed  to  Clark,  who  was 
dressed  no  differently  from  Bowman  and  Harrod  and 
Duff ;  and  the  man's  voice  trembled  piteously  as  he  spoke. 
It  needed  not  John  Duff  to  tell  us  that  he  was  pleading 
for  the  lives  of  his  family. 

"  He  will  sell  himself  as  a  slave  if  your  Excellency  will 
spare  them,"  said  Duff,  translating. 

But  Clark  stared  at  the  man  sternly. 

"  I  will  tell  them  my  plans  at  the  proper  time,"  he  said 
and  when  Duff  had  translated  this  the  man  turned  and 


KASKASKIA  163 

went  silently  into  his  house  again,  closing  the  door  behind 
him.  And  before  we  had  traversed  the  village  the  same 
thing  had  happened  many  times.  We  gained  the  fort 
again,  I  wondering  greatly  why  he  had  not  reassured  these 
simple  people.  It  was  Bowman  who  asked  this  question, 
he  being  closer  to  Clark  than  any  of  the  other  captains. 
Clark  said  nothing  then,  and  began  to  give  out  directions 
for  the  day.  But  presently  he  called  the  Captain  aside. 

"  Bowman,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  we  have  one  hundred 
and  fifty  men  to  hold  a  province  bigger  than  the  whole  of 
France,  and  filled  with  treacherous  tribes  in  the  King's 
pay.  I  must  work  out  the  problem  for  myself." 

Bowman  was  silent.  Clark,  with  that  touch  which  made 
men  love  him  and  die  for  him,  laid  his  hand  on  the  Cap 
tain's  shoulder. 

"  Have  the  men  called  in  by  detachments,"  he  said,  "  and 
fed.  God  knows  they  must  be  hungry,  —  and  you." 

Suddenly  I  remembered  that  he  himself  had  had  noth 
ing.  Running  around  the  commandant's  house  to  the 
kitchen  door,  I  came  unexpectedly  upon  Swein  Poulsson, 
who  was  face  to  face  with  the  linsey-woolsey-clad  figure 
of  Monsieur  Rocheblave's  negro  cook.  The  early  sun  cast 
long  shadows  of  them  on  the  ground. 

"  By  tarn,"  my  friend  was  saying,  "  so  I  vill  eat.  I  am 
choost  like  an  ox  for  three  days,  und  chew  grass.  Prairie 
grass,  is  it?  " 

"  Mo  pas  capab\  Michie,"  said  the  cook,  with  a  terrified 
roll  of  his  white  eyes. 

" Herr  Grott!"  cried  Swein  Poulsson,  "I  am  red  face. 
Aber  Herr  Grott,  I  thank  thee  I  am  not  a  nigger.  Und 
my  hair  is  bristles,  yes.  Davy  "  (spying  me),  "  I  thank 
Herr  Grott  it  is  not  vool.  Let  us  in  the  kitchen  go." 

"I  am  come  to  get  something  for  the  Colonel's  break 
fast,"  said  I,  pushing  past  the  slave,  through  the  open  door 
way.  Swein  Poulsson  followed,  and  here  I  struck  another 
contradiction  in  his  strange  nature.  He  helped  me  light  the 
fire  in  the  great  stone  chimney-place,  and  we  soon  had  a  pot 
of  hominy  on  the  crane,  and  turning  on  the  spit  a  piece  of 
buffalo  steak  which  we  found  in  the  larder.  Nor  did  a 


164  THE  CROSSING 

mouthful  pass  his  lips  until  I  had  sped  away  with  a 
steaming  portion  to  find  the  Colonel.  By  this  time  the 
men  had  broken  into  the  storehouse,  and  the  open  place 
was  dotted  with  their  breakfast  fires.  Clark  was  stand 
ing  alone  by  the  flagstaff,  his  face  careworn.  But  he 
smiled  as  he  saw  me  coming. 

"What's  this  ?  "  says  he. 

"Your  breakfast,  sir,"  I  answered.  I  set  down  the 
plate  and  the  pot  before  him  and  pressed  the  pewter  spoon 
into  his  hand. 

"  Davy,"  said  he. 

"Sir?"  said  I. 

"  What  did  you  have  for  your  breakfast  ?  " 

My  lip  trembled,  for  I  was  very  hungry,  and  the  rich 
steam  from  the  hominy  was  as  much  as  I  could  stand.  Then 
the  Colonel  took  me  by  the  arms,  as  gently  as  a  woman 
might,  set  me  down  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  taking 
a  spoonful  of  the  hominy  forced  it  between  my  lips.  I 
was  near  to  fainting  at  the  taste  of  it.  Then  he  took  a 
bit  himself,  and  divided  the  buffalo  steak  with  his  own 
hands.  And  when  from  the  camp-fires  they  perceived  the 
Colonel  and  the  drummer  boy  eating  together  in  plain  sight 
of  all,  they  gave  a  rousing  cheer. 

"  Swein  Poulsson  helped  get  your  breakfast,  sir,  and 
would  eat  nothing  either,"  I  ventured. 

"  Davy,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  gravely,  "  I  hope  you  will 
be  younger  when  you  are  twenty." 

"I  hope  I  shall  be  bigger,  sir,"  I  answered  gravely. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW   THE   KASKASKIANS   WERE  MADE   CITIZENS 

NEVER  before  had  such  a  day  dawned  upon  Kaskaskia. 
With  July  fierceness  the  sun  beat  down  upon  the  village, 
but  man  nor  woman  nor  child  stirred  from  the  darkened 
houses.  What  they  awaited  at  the  hands  of  the  Long 
Knives  they  knew  not,  —  captivity,  torture,  death  per 
haps.  Through  the  deserted  streets  stalked  a  squad  of 
backwoodsmen  headed  by  John  Duff  and  two  American 
traders  found  in  the  town,  who  were  bestirring  themselves 
in  our  behalf,  knocking  now  at  this  door  and  anon  at  that. 

"  The  Colonel  bids  you  come  to  the  fort,"  he  said,  and 
was  gone. 

The  church  bell  rang  with  slow,  ominous  strokes,  far 
different  from  its  gentle  vesper  peal  of  yesterday.  Two 
companies  were  drawn  up  in  the  sun  before  the  old  Jesuit 
house,  and  presently  through  the  gate  a  procession  came, 
grave  and  mournful.  The  tone  of  it  was  sombre  in  the 
white  glare,  for  men  had  donned  their  best  (as  they 
thought)  for  the  last  time,  —  cloth  of  camlet  and  Cadiz 
and  Limbourg,  white  cotton  stockings,  and  brass-buckled 
shoes.  They  came  like  captives  led  to  execution.  But 
at  their  head  a  figure  held  our  eye,  —  a  figure  that  spoke 
of  dignity  and  courage,  of  trials  borne  for  others.  It  was 
the  village  priest  in  his  robes.  He  had  a  receding  forehead 
and  a  strong,  pointed  chin ;  but  benevolence  was  in  the 
curve  of  his  great  nose.  I  have  many  times  since  seen  his 
type  of  face  in  the  French  prints.  He  and  his  flock  halted 
before  our  young  Colonel,  even  as  the  citizens  of  Calais  in 
a  bygone  century  must  have  stood  before  the  English  king. 

The  scene  comes  back  to  me.  On  the  one  side,  not 
the  warriors  of  a  nation  that  has  made  its  mark  in  war, 

165 


166  THE   CROSSING 

but  peaceful  peasants  who  had  sought  this  place  for  its 
remoteness  from  persecution,  to  live  and  die  in  harmony 
with  all  mankind.  On  the  other,  the  sinewy  advance 
guard  of  a  race  that  knows  not  peace,  whose  goddess  of 
liberty  carries  in  her  hand  a  sword.  The  plough  might 
have  been  graven  on  our  arms,  but  always  the  rifle. 

The  silence  of  the  trackless  wilds  reigned  while  Clark 
gazed  at  them  sternly.  And  when  he  spoke  it  was  with 
the  voice  of  a  conqueror,  and  they  listened  as  the  conquered 
listen,  with  heads  bowed  —  all  save  the  priest. 

Clark  told  them  first  that  they  had  been  given  a  false 
and  a  wicked  notion  of  the  American  cause,  and  he  spoke 
of  the  tyranny  of  the  English  king,  which  had  become 
past  endurance  to  a  free  people.  As  for  ourselves,  the 
Long  Knives,  we  came  in  truth  to  conquer,  and  because 
of  their  hasty  judgment  the  Kaskaskians  were  at  our 
mercy.  The  British  had  told  them  that  the  Kentuckians 
were  a  barbarous  people,  and  they  had  believed. 

He  paused  that  John  Duff  might  translate  and  the  gist 
of  what  he  had  said  sink  in.  But  suddenly  the  priest 
had  stepped  out  from  the  ranks,  faced  his  people,  and  was 
himself  translating  in  a  strong  voice.  When  he  had  fin 
ished  a  tremor  shook  the  group.  But  he  turned  calmly 
and  faced  Clark  once  more. 

"  Citizens  of  Kaskaskia,"  Colonel  Clark  went  on,  "  the 
king  whom  you  renounced  when  the  English  conquered 
you,  the  great  King  of  France,  has  judged  for  yon  and  the 
French  people.  Knowing  that  the  American  cause  is  just, 
he  is  sending  his  fleets  and  regiments  to  fight  for  it  against 
the  British  King,  who  until  now  has  been  your  sovereign." 

Again  he  paused,  and  when  the  priest  had  told  them 
this,  a  murmur  of  astonishment  came  from  the  boldest. 

"  Citizens  of  Kaskaskia,  know  you  that  the  Long  Knives 
come  not  to  massacre,  as  you  foolishly  believed,  but  to 
release  from  bondage.  We  aro  come  not  against  you, 
who  have  been  deceived,  but  against  those  soldiers  of  the 
British  King  who  have  bribed  the  savages  to  slaughter 
our  wives  and  children.  You  have  but  to  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  the  Continental  Congress  to  become  free, 


THE   KASKASKIANS   MADE   CITIZENS        167 

even  as  we  are,  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  that  American 
government  under  which  we  live  and  for  which  we  fight. " 

The  face  of  the  good  priest  kindled  as  he  glanced  at 
Clark.  He  turned  once  more,  and  though  we  could  not 
understand  his  words,  the  thrill  of  his  eloquence  moved 
us.  And  when  he  had  finished  there  was  a  moment's 
hush  of  inarticulate  joy  among  his  flock,  and  then  such 
transports  as  moved  strangely  the  sternest  men  in  our 
ranks.  The  simple  people  fell  to  embracing  each  other 
and  praising  God,  the  tears  running  on  their  cheeks.  Out 
of  the  group  came  an  old  man.  A  skullcap  rested  on  his 
silvered  hair,  and  he  felt  the  ground  uncertainly  with  his 
gold-headed  stick. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said  tremulously  "  you  will  pardon  an 
old  man  if  he  show  feeling.  I  am  born  seventy  year  ago 
in  Gascon.  I  inhabit  this  country  thirty  year,  and  last 
night  I  think  I  not  live  any  longer.  Last  night  we  make 
our  peace  with  the  good  God,  and  come  here  to-day  to  die. 
But  we  know  you  not,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  and  sur 
prising  vigor ;  "  ha,  we  know  you  not  !  They  told  us 
lies,  and  we  were  humble  and  believed.  But  now  we  are 
Americains"  he  cried,  his  voice  pitched  high,  as  he  pointed 
with  a  trembling  arm  to  the  stars  and  stripes  above  him. 
" Me s  enfants,  vive  les  Bostonnais!  Vive  les  Americains! 
Vive  Monsieur  le  Colonel  Clark,  sauveur  de  Kaskaskia!  " 

The  listening  village  heard  the  shout  and  wondered. 
And  when  it  had  died  down  Colonel  Clark  took  the 
old  Gascon  by  the  hand,  and  not  a  man  of  his  but  saw 
that  this  was  a  master-stroke  of  his  genius. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said  simply,  "  I  thank  you.  I  would  not 
force  you,  and  you  will  have  some  days  to  think  over  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Republic.  Go  now  to  your  homes, 
and  tell  those  who  are  awaiting  you  what  I  have  said.  And 
if  any  man  of  French  birth  wish  to  leave  this  place,  he  may 
go  of  his  own  free  will,  save  only  three  whom  I  suspect  are 
not  our  friends." 

They  turned,  and  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy  quite  pitiful  to  see 
went  trooping  out  of  the  gate.  But  scarce  could  they  have 
reached  the  street  and  we  have  broken  ranks,  when  we 


168  THE  CROSSING 

saw  them  coming  back  again,  the  priest  leading  them  as 
before.  They  drew  near  to  the  spot  where  Clark  stood, 
talking  to  the  captains,  and  halted  expectantly. 

"  What  is  it,  my  friends  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel. 

The  priest  came  forward  and  bowed  gravely. 

"I  am  Pere  Gibault,  sir,"  he  said,  "cure  of  Kaskaskia." 
He  paused,  surveying  our  commander  with  a  clear  eye. 
"  There  is  something  that  still  troubles  the  good  citizens." 

"  And  what  is  that,  sir?  "  said  Clark. 

The  priest  hesitated. 

"  If  your  Excellency  will  only  allow  the  church  to  be 
opened  —  "  he  ventured. 

The  group  stood  wistful,  fearful  that  their  boldness  had 
displeased,  expectant  of  reprimand. 

"  My  good  Father,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  "  an  American 
commander  has  but  one  relation  to  any  church.  And  that 
is"  (he  added  with  force)  "to  protect  it.  For  all  reli 
gions  are  equal  before  the  Republic." 

The  priest  gazed  at  him  intently. 

"  By  that  answer,"  said  he,  "  your  Excellency  has  made 
for  your  government  loyal  citizens  in  Kaskaskia." 

Then  the  Colonel  stepped  up  to  the  priest  and  took  him 
likewise  by  the  hand. 

"  I  have  arranged  for  a  house  in  town,"  said  he.  "  Mon 
sieur  Rocheblave  has  refused  to  dine  with  me  there.  Will 
you  do  me  that  honor,  Father  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  your  Excellency,"  said  Father  Gi 
bault.  And  turning  to  the  people,  he  translated  what  the 
Colonel  had  said.  Then  their  cup  of  happiness  was  indeed 
full,  and  some  ran  to  Clark  and  would  have  thrown  their 
arms  about  him  had  he  been  a  man  to  embrace.  Hurry 
ing  out  of  the  gate,  they  spread  the  news  like  wildfire,  and 
presently  the  church  bell  clanged  in  tones  of  unmistakable 

j°y- 

"  Sure,  Davy  dear,  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  Saints'  day 
at  home,"  said  Terence,  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a  picket 
fence  that  bordered  the  street,  "  savin'  the  presence  of  the 
naygurs  and  thim  red  divils  wid  blankets  an'  scowls  as  wud 
turrn  the  milk  sour  in  the  pail." 


THE  KASKASKIANS  MADE   CITIZENS        169 

He  had  stopped  beside  two  Kaskaskia  warriors  in  scarlet 
blankets  who  stood  at  the  corner,  watching  with  silent  con 
tempt  the  antics  of  the  French  inhabitants.  Now  and  again 
one  or  the  other  gave  a  grunt  and  wrapped  his  blanket 
more  tightly  about  him. 

"  Umrrhh  !  "  said  Terence.  "  Faith,  I  talk  that  langwidge 
mesilf  when  I  have  throuble."  The  warriors  stared  at 
him  with  what  might  be  called  a  stoical  surprise.  "  Umrrh ! 
Does  the  holy  father  praych  to  ye  wid  thim  wurrds,  ye 
haythens?  Begorra,  'tis  a  wondher  ye  wuddent  wash 
yereselves,"  he  added,  making  a  face,  "  wid  muddy  wather 
to  be  had  for  the  askin'." 

We  moved  on,  through  such  a  scene  as  I  have  seldom 
beheld.  The  village  had  donned  its  best :  women  in  cap 
and  gown  were  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  some  laugh 
ing  and  some  weeping ;  grown  men  embraced  each  other ; 
children  of  all  colors  flung  themselves  against  Terence's 
legs,  —  dark-haired  Creoles,  little  negroes  with  woolly 
pates,  and  naked  Indian  lads  with  bow  and  arrow.  Ter 
ence  dashed  at  them  now  and  then,  and  they  fled  screaming 
into  dooryards  to  come  out  again  and  mimic  him  when  he 
had  passed,  while  mothers  and  fathers  and  grandfathers 
smiled  at  the  good  nature  in  his  Irish  face.  Presently  he 
looked  down  at  me  comically. 

"Why  wuddent  ye  be  doin'  the  like,  Davy?"  he  asked. 
"  Amusha  !  'tis  mesilf  that  wants  to  run  and  hop  and  skip 
wid  the  childher.  Ye  put  me  in  mind  of  a  wizened  old  man 
that  sat  all  day  makin'  shoes  in  Killarney,  —  all  savin'  the 
fringe  he  had  on  his  chin." 

"  A  soldier  must  be  dignified,"  I  answered. 

"  The  saints  bar  that  wurrd  from  hiven,"  said  Terence, 
trying  to  pronounce  it.  "  Come,  we'll  go  to  mass,  or  me 
mother  will  be  visitin'  me  this  night." 

We  crossed  the  square  and  went  into  the  darkened  church, 
where  the  candles  were  burning.  It  was  the  first  church  I 
had  ever  entered,  and  I  heard  with  awe  the  voice  of  the 
priest  and  the  fervent  responses,  but  I  understood  not  a 
word  of  what  was  said.  Afterwards  Father  Gibault 
mounted  to  the  pulpit  and  stood  for  a  moment  with  his 


170  THE  CROSSING 

hand  raised  above  his  flock,  and  then  began  to  speak. 
What  he  told  them  I  have  learned  since.  And  this  I 
know,  that  when  they  came  out  again  into  the  sunlit 
square  they  were  Americans.  It  matters  not  when  they 
took  the  oath. 

As  we  walked  back  towards  the  fort  we  came  to  a  little 
house  with  a  flower  garden  in  front  of  it,  and  there  stood 
Colonel  Clark  himself  by  the  gate.  He  stopped  us  with  a 
motion  of  his  hand. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  we  are  to  live  here  for  a  while,  you 
and  I.  What  do  you  think  of  our  headquarters  ?  "  He 
did  not  wait  for  me  to  reply,  but  continued,  "  Can  you 
suggest  any  improvement  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  needing  a  soldier  to  be  on  guard  in  front, 
sir,"  said  I. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  McChesney  is  too  valuable  a 
man.  I  am  sending  him  with  Captain  Bowman  to  take 
Cahokia." 

"  Would  you  have  Terence,  sir  ?  "  I  ventured,  while  Ter 
ence  grinned.  Whereupon  Colonel  Clark  sent  him  to 
report  to  his  captain  that  he  was  detailed  for  orderly  duty 
to  the  commanding  officer.  And  within  half  an  hour  he 
was  standing  guard  in  the  flower  garden,  making  grimaces 
at  the  children  in  the  street.  Colonel  Clark  sat  at  a 
table  in  the  little  front  room,  and  while  two  of  Monsieur 
Rocheblave's  negroes  cooked  his  dinner,  he  was  busy  with 
a  score  of  visitors,  organizing,  advising,  planning,  and 
commanding.  There  were  disputes  to  settle  now  that 
alarm  had  subsided,  and  at  noon  three  excitable  gentle 
men  carrie  in  to  inform  against  a  certain  Monsieur  Cerre, 
merchant  and  trader,  then  absent  at  St.  Louis.  When  at 
length  the  Colonel  had  succeeded  in  bringing  their  denun 
ciations  to  an  end  and  they  had  departed,  he  looked  at  me 
comically  as  I  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  all  I  ask  of  the  good  Lord  is  that  He 
will  frighten  me  incontinently  for  a  month  before  I  die." 

"  I  think  He  would  find  that  difficult,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  there's  no  hope  for  me,''  he  answered,  laughing, 
"  for  I  have  observed  that  fright  alone  brings  a  man  into 


THE  KASKASKIANS   MADE   CITIZENS        171 

a  fit  spiritual  state  to  enter  heaven.  What  would  you 
say  of  those  slanderers  of  Monsieur  Cerre  ?  " 

Not  expecting  an  answer,  he  dipped  his  quill  into  the 
ink-pot  and  turned  to  his  papers. 

"  I  should  say  that  they  owed  Monsieur  Cerre  money," 
I  replied. 

The  Colonel  dropped  his  quill  and  stared.  As  for  me, 
I  was  puzzled  to  know  why. 

"  Egad,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  "  most  of  us  get  by  hard 
knocks  what  you  seem  to  have  been  born  with."  He  fell 
to  musing,  a  worried  look  coming  on  his  face  that  was  no 
stranger  to  me  later,  and  his  hand  fell  heavily  on  the  loose 
pile  of  paper  before  him.  "Davy,"  says  he,  "I  need  a 
commissary-general." 

"  What  would  that  be,  sir,"  I  asked. 

"A  John  Law,  who  will  make  something  out  of  noth 
ing,  who  will  make  money  out  of  this  blank  paper,  who 
will  wheedle  the  Creole  traders  into  believing  they  are 
doing  us  a  favor  and  making  their  everlasting  fortune  by 
advancing  us  flour  and  bacon." 

"  And  doesn't  Congress  make  money,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  they  do,  Davy,  by  the  ton,"  he  replied,  "  and  so 
must  we,  as  the  rulers  of  a  great  province.  For  mark  me, 
though  the  men  are  happy  to-day,  in  four  days  they  will 
be  grumbling  and  trying  to  desert  in  dozens." 

We  were  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  there 
stood  Terence  McCann. 

"  His  riverence  !  "  he  announced,  and  bowed  low  as  the 
priest  came  into  the  room. 

I  was  bid  by  Colonel  Clark  to  sit  down  and  dine  with 
them  on  the  good  things  which  Monsieur  Rocheblave's 
cook  had  prepared.  After  dinner  they  went  into  the  lit 
tle  orchard  behind  the  house  and  sat  drinking  (in  the 
French  fashion)  the  commandant's  precious  coffee  which 
had  been  sent  to  him  from  far-away  New  Orleans.  Colonel 
Clark  plied  the  priest  with  questions  of  the  French  towns 
under  English  rule  :  and  Father  Gibault,  speaking  for  his 
simple  people,  said  that  the  English  had  led  them  easily 
to  believe  that  the  Kentuckians  were  cutthroats. 


172  THE   CROSSING 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "if  thoy  but  knew  you!  If 
they  but  knew  the  principles  of  that  government  for  which 
you  fight,  they  would  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  and 
the  whole  of  this  territory  would  be  yours.  I  know  them, 
from  Quebec  to  Detroit  and  Michilimackinac  and  Saint 
Vincennes.  Listen,  monsieur,"  he  cried,  his  homely  face 
alight ;  "  I  myself  will  go  to  Saint  Vincennes  for  you.  I 
will  tell  them  the  truth,  and  you  shall  have  the  post  for 
the  asking." 

"  You  will  go  to  Vincennes  !  "  exclaimed  Clark ;  "  a 
hard  and  dangerous  journey  of  a  hundred  leagues  !  " 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  the  priest,  simply,  "  the  journey 
is  nothing.  For  a  century  the  missionaries  of  the  Church 
have  walked  this  wilderness  alone  with  God.  Often  they 
have  suffered,  and  often  died  in  tortures  —  but  gladly." 

Colonel  Clark  regarded  the  man  intently. 

"  The  cause  of  liberty,  both  religious  and  civil,  is  our 
cause,"  Father  Gibault  continued.  "Men  have  died  for 
it,  and  will  die  for  it,  and  it  will  prosper.  Furthermore, 
Monsieur,  my  life  has  not  known  many  wants.  I  have 
saved  something  to  keep  my  old  age,  with  which  to  buy 
a  little  house  and  an  orchard  in  this  peaceful  place.  The 
sum  I  have  is  at  your  service.  The  good  Congress  will 
repay  me.  And  you  need  the  money." 

Colonel  Clark  was  not  an  impulsive  man,  but  he  felt 
none  the  less  deeply,  as  I  know  well.  His  reply  to  this 
generous  offer  was  almost  brusque,  but  it  did  not  deceive 
the  priest. 

"  Nay,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "  it  is  for  mankind  I  give  it, 
in  remembrance  of  Him  who  gave  everything.  And 
though  I  receive  nothing  in  return,  I  shall  have  my  re 
ward  an  hundred  fold." 

In  due  time,  I  know  not  how,  the  talk  swung  round 
again  to  lightness,  for  the  Colonel  loved  a  good  story,  and 
the  priest  had  many  which  he  told  with  wit  in  his  quaint 
French  accent.  As  he  was  rising  to  take  his  leave,  Pere 
Gibault  put  his  hand  on  my  head. 

"  I  saw  your  Excellency's  son  in  the  church  this  morn 
ing,"  he  said. 


THE   KASKASKIANS  MADE   CITIZENS        173 

Colonel  Clark  laughed  and  gave  me  a  pinch. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  is  old  enough  to  be 
my  father." 

The  priest  looked  down  at  me  with  a  puzzled  expres 
sion  in  his  brown  eyes. 

"  I  would  I  had  him  for  my  son,"  said  Colonel  Clark, 
kindly  ;  "  but  the  lad  is  eleven,  and  I  shall  not  be  twenty- 
six  until  next  November." 

"  Your  Excellency  not  twenty-six  !  "  cried  Father  Gi- 
bault,  in  astonishment.  "  What  will  you  be  when  you 
are  thirty  ?  " 

The  young  Colonel's  face  clouded. 

"  God  knows  !  "  he  said. 

Father  Gibault  dropped  his  eyes  and  turned  to  me  with 
native  tact. 

"What  would  you  like  best  to  do,  my  son?"  he  asked. 

"  I  should  like  to  learn  to  speak  French,"  said  I,  for  I 
had  been  much  irritated  at  not  understanding  what  was 
said  in  the  streets. 

"  And  so  you  shall,"  said  Father  Gibault ;  "  I  myself 
will  teach  you.  You  must  come  to  my  house  to-day." 

"  And  Davy  will  teach  me,"  said  the  Colonel. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DAYS    OF   TRIAL 

BUT  I  was  not  immediately  to  take  up  the  study  of 
French.  Things  began  to  happen  in  Kaskaskia.  In  the 
first  place,  Captain  Bowman's  company,  with  a  few  scouts, 
of  which  Tom  was  one,  set  out  that  very  afternoon  for  the 
capture  of  Cohos,  or  Cahokia,  and  this  despite  the  fact 
that  they  had  had  no  sleep  for  two  nights.  If  you  will 
look  at  the  map,1  you  will  see,  dotted  along  the  bottoms 
and  the  bluffs  beside  the  great  Mississippi,  the  string 
of  villages,  Kaskaskia,  La  Prairie  du  Rocher,  Fort 
Chartres,  St.  Philip,  and  Cahokia.  Some  few  miles  from 
Cahokia,  on  the  western  bank  of  the  Father  of  Waters, 
was  the  little  French  village  of  St.  Louis,  in  the  Spanish 
territory  of  Louisiana.  From  thence  eastward  stretched 
the  great  waste  of  prairie  and  forest  inhabited  by  roving 
bands  of  the  forty  Indian  nations.  Then  you  come  to 
Vincennes  on  the  Wabash,  Fort  St.  Vincent,  the  English 
and  Canadians  called  it,  for  there  were  a  few  of  the 
latter  who  had  settled  in  Kaskaskia  since  the  English 
occupation. 

We  gathered  on  the  western  skirts  of  the  village  to 
give  Bowman's  company  a  cheer,  and  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  in  the  place  watched  the  little  column  as  it 
wound  snakelike  over  the  prairie  on  the  road  to  Fort 
Chartres,  until  it  was  lost  in  the  cottonwoods  to  the  west 
ward. 

Things  began  to  happen  in  Kaskaskia.  It  would  have 
been  strange  indeed  if  things  had  not  happened.  One 

1  The  best  map  which  the  editor  has  found  of  this  district  is  in  Vol.  VI, 
Part  11,  of  Winsor's  "Narrative  and  Critical  History  of  America,"  p.  721. 

174 


DAYS   OF   TRIAL  175 

hundred  and  seventy-five  men  had  marched  into  that  terri 
tory  out  of  which  now  are  carved  the  great  states  of  Ohio, 
Indiana,  and  Illinois,  and  to  most  of  them  the  thing  was  a 
picnic,  a  jaunt  which  would  soon  be  finished.  Many  had 
left  families  in  the  frontier  forts  without  protection. 
The  time  of  their  enlistment  had  almost  expired. 

There  was  a  store  in  the  village  kept  by  a  great  citizen, 
—  not  a  citizen  of  Kaskaskia  alone,  but  a  citizen  of  the 
world.  This,  I  am  aware,  sounds  like  fiction,  like  an 
attempt  to  get  an  effect  which  was  not  there.  But  it  is 
true  as  gospel.  The  owner  of  this  store  had  many  others 
scattered  about  in  this  foreign  country:  at  Vincennes, 
at  St.  Louis,  where  he  resided,  at  Cahokia.  He  knew 
Michilimackinac  and  Quebec  and  New  Orleans.  He  had 
been  born  some  thirty-one  years  before  in  Sardinia,  had 
served  in  the  Spanish  army,  and  was  still  a  Spanish  sub 
ject.  The  name  of  this  famous  gentleman  was  Monsieur 
Francois  Vigo,  and  he  was  the  Rothschild  of  the  country 
north  of  the  Ohio.  Monsieur  Vigo,  though  he  merited  it, 
I  had  not  room  to  mention  in  the  last  chapter.  Clark 
had  routed  him  from  his  bed  on  the  morning  of  our  arrival, 
and  whether  or  not  he  had  been  in  the  secret  of  fright 
ening  the  inhabitants  into  making  their  wills,  and  then 
throwing  them  into  transports  of  joy,  I  know  not. 

Monsieur  'Vigo's  store  was  the  village  club.  It  had 
neither  glass  in  the  window  nor  an  attractive  display  of 
goods;  it  was  merely  a  log  cabin  set  down  on  a  weedy, 
sun-baked  plot.  The  stuffy  smell  of  skins  and  furs  came 
out  of  the  doorway.  Within,  when  he  was  in  Kaskaskia, 
Monsieur  Vigo  was  wont  to  sit  behind  his  rough  walnut 
table,  writing  with  a  fine  quill,  or  dispensing  the  news  of 
the  villages  to  the  priest  and  other  prominent  citizens,  or 
haggling  with  persistent  blanketed  braves  over  canoe- 
loads  of  ill-smelling  pelts  which  they  brought  down  from 
the  green  forests  of  the  north.  Monsieur  Vigo's  clothes 
were  the  color  of  the  tobacco  he  gave  in  exchange;  his 
eyes  were  not  unlike  the  black  beads  he  traded,  but  ' 
shrewd  and  kindly  withal,  set  in  a  square  saffron  face 
that  had  the  contradiction  of  a  small  chin.  As  the  days 


176  THE   CROSSING 

wore  into  months,  Monsieur  Vigo's  place  very  natu 
rally  became  the  headquarters  for  our  army,  if  army 
it  might  be  called.  Of  a  morning  a  dozen  would  be  sit 
ting  against  the  logs  in  the  black  shadow,  and  in  the 
midst  of  them  always  squatted  an  unsavory  Indian  squaw. 
A  few  braves  usually  stood  like  statues  at  the  corner,  and 
in  front  of  the  door  another  group  of  hunting  shirts. 
Without  was  the  paper  money  of  the  Continental  Congress, 
within  the  good  tafia  and  tobacco  of  Monsieur  Vigo. 
One  day  Monsieur  Vigo's  young  Creole  clerk  stood  shrug 
ging  his  shoulders  in  the  doorway.  I  stopped. 

"  By  tarn!  "  Swein  Poulsson  was  crying  to  the  clerk,  as 
he  waved  a  worthless  scrip  above  his  head.  "Vat  is 
money  ?  " 

This  definition  the  clerk,  not  being  a  Doctor  Johnson, 
was  unable  to  give  offhand. 

"  Vat  are  you,  choost  ?  Is  it  America  ? "  demanded 
Poulsson,  while  the  others  looked  on,  some  laughing, 
some  serious.  "  And  vich  citizen  are  you  since  you  are 
ours  ?  You  vill  please  to  give  me  one  carrot  of  tobacco." 
And  he  thrust  the  scrip  under  the  clerk's  nose. 

The  clerk  stared  at  the  uneven  lettering  on  the  scrip 
with  disdain. 

"  Money,"  he  exclaimed  scornfully,  "  she  is  not  money. 
Piastre  —  Spanish  dollare  —  then  I  give  you  carrot." 

"  By  God  !  "  shouted  Bill  Cowan,  "  ye  will  take  Vir- 
ginny  paper,  and  Congress  paper,  or  else  I  reckon  we'll 
have  a  drink  and  tobaccy,  boys,  take  or  no  take." 

"  Hooray,  Bill,  ye're  right,"  cried  several  of  our  men. 

"  Lemme  in  here,"  said  Cowan.  But  the  frightened 
Creole  blocked  the  doorway. 

"  SacrS  !  "  he  screamed,  and  then,  "  Voleurs  !  " 

The  excitement  drew  a  number  of  people  from  the 
neighborhood.  Nay,  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  town  was 
ringed  about  us. 

"Bravo,  Jules/"  they  cried,  " garde-tu  la porte.  A  bas 
les  Bostonnais  !  A  bas  les  voleurs  !  " 

"  Damn  such  monkey  talk,"  said  Cowan,  facing  them 
suddenly.  I  knew  him  well,  and  when  the  giant  lost  his 


DAYS  OF  TRIAL  177 

temper  it  was  gone  irrevocably  until  a  fight  was  over. 
"Call  a  man  a  squar'  name." 

"  Hey,  Frenchy,"  another  of  our  men  put  in,  stalking 
up  to  the  clerk,  "  I  reckon  this  here  store's  ourn,  ef  we've 
a  mind  to  tek  it.  I  'low  you'll  give  us  the  rum  and  the 
'baccy.  Come  on,  boys!  " 

In  between  him  and  the  clerk  leaped  a  little,  robin-like 
man  with  a  red  waistcoat,  beside  himself  with  rage. 
Bill  Cowan  and  his  friends  stared  at  this  diminutive 
Frenchman,  open-mouthed,  as  he  poured  forth  a  veritable 
torrent  of  unintelligible  words,  plentifully  mixed  with 
sacr^s,  which  he  ripped  out  like  snarls.  I  would  as  soon 
have  touched  him  as  a  ball  of  angry  bees  or  a  pair  of 
fighting  wildcats.  Not  so  Bill  Cowan.  When  that  wor 
thy  recovered  from  his  first  surprise  he  seized  hold  of 
some  of  the  man's  twisting  arms  and  legs  and  lifted  him 
bodily  from  the  ground,  as  he  would  have  taken  a  per 
verse  and  struggling  child.  There  was  no  question  of  a 
fight.  Cowan  picked  him  up,  I  say,  and  before  any  one 
knew  what  happened,  he  flung  him  on  to  the  hot  roof  of 
the  store  (the  eaves  were  but  two  feet  above  his  head), 
and  there  the  man  stuck,  clinging  to  a  loose  shingle,  pur 
pling  and  coughing  and  spitting  with  rage.  There  was  a 
loud  gust  of  guffaws  from  the  woodsmen,  and  oaths  like 
whip-cracks  from  the  circle  around  us,  menacing  growls 
as  it  surged  inward  and  our  men  turned  to  face  it.  A 
few  citizens  pushed  through  the  outskirts  of  it  and  ran 
away,  and  in  the  hush  that  followed  we  heard  them 
calling  wildly  the  names  of  Father  Gibault  and  Clark  and 
of  Vigo  himself.  Cowan  thrust  me  past  the  clerk  into  the 
store,  where  I  stood  listening  to  the  little  man  on  the 
roof,  scratching  and  clutching  at  the  shingles,  and  cough 
ing  still. 

But  there  was  no  fight.  Shouts  of  "Monsieur  Vigo! 
Void  Monsieur  Vigo ! "  were  heard,  the  crowd  parted 
respectfully,  and  Monsieur  Vigo  in  his  snuff-colored  suit 
stood  glancing  from  Cowan  to  his  pallid  clerk.  He  was 
not  in  the  least  excited. 

"  Come  in,  my  frens,"  he  said  ;   "  it  is  too  hot  in  the 


178  THE   CROSSING 

sun."  And  he  set  the  example  by  stepping  over  the  sill 
on  to  the  hard-baked  earth  of  the  floor  within.  Then  he 
spied  me.  "Ah,"  he  said,  "the  boy  of  Monsieur  le 
Colonel !  And  how  are  you  called,  my  son  ?  "  he  added, 
patting  me  kindly. 

"  Davy,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Ha,"  he  said,  "and  a  brave  soldier,  no  doubt." 

I  was  flattered  as  well  as  astonished  by  this  attention. 
But  Monsieur  Vigo  knew  men,  and  he  had  given  them, 
time  to  turn  around.  By  this  time  Bill  Cowan  and  some 
of  my  friends  had  stooped  through  the  doorway,  followed 
by  a  prying  Kaskaskian  brave  and  as  many  Creoles  as 
could  crowd  behind  them.  Monsieur  Vigo  was  surpris 
ingly  calm. 

"  It  make  hot  weather,  my  f rien's,"  said  he.  "  How  can 
I  serve  you,  messieurs  ?  " 

"  Hain't  the  Congress  got  authority  here  ?  "  said  one. 

"  I  am  happy  to  say,"  answered  Monsieur  Vigo,  rubbing 
his  hands,  "for  I  think  much  of  your  principle." 

"Then,"  said  the  man,  "we  come  here  to  trade  with 
Congress  money.  Hain't  that  money  good  in  Kaskasky  ?  " 

There  was  an  anxious  pause.  Then  Monsieur  Vigo's 
eyes  twinkled,  and  he  looked  at  me. 

"  And  what  you  say,  Davy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  money  would  be  good  if  you  took  it,  sir,"  I  said, 
not  knowing  what  else  to  answer. 

"  Sapristi! '"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Vigo,  looking  hard  at 
me.  "  Who  teach  you  that  ?  " 

"No  one,  sir,"  said  I,  staring  in  my  turn. 

"  And  if  Congress  lose,  and  not  pay,  where  am  I,  mon 
petit  maitre  de  la  haute  finance?"  demanded  Monsieur 
Vigo,  with  the  palms  of  his  hands  outward. 

"  You  will  be  in  good  company,  sir,"  said  I. 

At  that  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  and  Bill 
Cowan  and  my  friends  laughed  with  him. 

"  Good  company  —  o'est  la  plupart  de  la  vie,"  said  Mon 
sieur  Vigo.  "  Et  quel  garpon  —  what  a  boy  it  is  !  " 

"  I  never  seed  his  beat  fer  wisdom,  Mister  Vigo,"  said 
Bill  Cowan,  now  in  good  humor  once  more  at  the  prospect 


DAYS   OF  TRIAL  179 

of  rum  and  tobacco.  And  I  found  out  later  that  he  and 
the  others  had  actually  given  to  me  the  credit  of  this 
coup.  "  He  never  failed  us  yet.  Hain't  that  truth,  boys  ? 
Hain't  we  a-goin'  on  to  St.  Vincent  because  he  seen  the 
Ha'r  Buyer  sculped  on  the  Ohio  ?  " 

The  rest  assented  so  heartily  but  withal  so  gravely, 
that  I  am  between  laughter  and  tears  over  the  remem 
brance  of  it.. 

"At  noon  you  come  back,"  said  Monsieur  Vigo.  "I 
think  till  then  about  rate  of  exchange,  and  talk  with  your 
Colonel.  Davy,  you  stay  here." 

I  remained,  while  the  others  filed  out,  and  at  length  I 
was  alone  with  him  and  Jules,  his  clerk. 

"  Davy,  how  you  like  to  be  trader  ?  "  asked  Monsieur 
Vigo. 

It  was  a  new  thought  to  me,  and  I  turned  it  over  in  my 
mind.  To  see  the  strange  places  of  the  world,  and  the 
stranger  people;  to  become  a  man  of  wealth  and  influence, 
such  as  Monsieur  Vigo  ;  and  (I  fear  I  loved  it  best)  to 
match  my  brains  with  others  at  a  bargain,  —  I  turned  it 
all  over  slowly,  gravely,  in  my  boyish  mind,  rubbing  the 
hard  dirt  on  the  floor  with  the  toe  of  my  moccasin.  And 
suddenly  the  thought  came  to  me  that  I  was  a  traitor  to 
my  friends,  a  deserter  from  the  little  army  that  loved  me 
so  well. 

"Eh  Men  ?  "  said  Monsieur  Vigo. 

I  shook  my  head,  but  in  spite  of  me  I  felt  the  tears 
welling  into  my  eyes  and  brushed  them  away  shamefully. 
At  such  times  of  stress  some  of  my  paternal  Scotch  crept 
into  my  speech. 

"  I  will  no  be  leaving  Colonel  Clark  and  the  boys,"  I 
cried,  "  not  for  all  the  money  in  the  world." 

"  Congress  money  ?  "  said  Monsieur  Vigo,  with  a  queer 
expression. 

It  was  then  I  laughed  through  my  tears,  and  that 
cemented  the  friendship  between  us.  It  was  a  lifelong 
friendship,  though  I  little  suspected  it  then. 

In  the  days  that  followed  he  never  met  me  on  the  street 
that  he  did  not  stop  to  pass  the  time  of  day,  and  ask  me 


180  THE   CROSSING 

if  I  had  changed  my  mind.  He  came  every  morning  to 
headquarters,  where  he  and  Colonel  Clark  sat  by  the 
hour  with  brows  knit.  Monsieur  Vigo  was  as  good  as 
his  word,  and  took  the  Congress  money,  though  not  at 
juch  a  value  as  many  would  have  had  him.  I  have  often 
thought  that  we  were  all  children  then,  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  ingratitude  of  republics.  Monsieur  Vigo  took  the 
money,  and  was  all  his  life  many,  many  thousand  dollars 
the  poorer.  Father  Gibault  advanced  his  little  store,  and 
lived  to  feel  the  pangs  of  want.  And  Colonel  Clark  ? 
But  I  must  not  go  beyond  the  troubles  of  that  summer, 
and  the  problems  that  vexed  our  commander.  One  night 
I  missed  him  from  the  room  where  we  slept,  and  walking 
into  the  orchard  found  him  pacing  there,  where  the  moon 
cast  filmy  shadows  on  the  grass.  By  day  as  he  went 
around  among  the  men  his  brow  was  unclouded,  though 
his  face  was  stern.  But  now  I  surprised  the  man  so 
strangely  moved  that  I  yearned  to  comfort  him.  He  had 
taken  three  turns  before  he  perceived  me. 

"  Davy,"  he  said,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  missed  you,  sir,"  I  answered,  staring  at  the  furrows 
in  his  face. 

"  Come  ! "  he  said  almost  roughly,  and  seizing  my  hand, 
led  me  back  and  forth  swiftly  through  the  wet  grass  for  I 
know  not  how  long.  The  moon  dipped  to  the  uneven 
line  of  the  ridge-pole  and  slipped  behind  the  stone  chim 
ney.  All  at  once  he  stopped,  dropped  my  hand,  and 
smote  both  of  his  together. 

"  I  will  hold  on,  by  the  eternal  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  will  let 
no  American  read  his  history  and  say  that  I  abandoned 
this  land.  Let  them  desert!  If  ten  men  be  found  who 
will  stay,  I  will  hold  the  place  for  the  Republic." 

"  Will  not  Virginia  and  the  Congress  send  you  men, 
sir  ?  "  I  asked  wonderingly. 

He  laughed  a  laugh  that  was  all  bitterness. 

"  Virginia  and  the  Continental  Congress  know  little 
and  care  less  about  me,"  he  answered.  "  Some  day  you 
will  learn  that  foresight  sometimes  comes  to  men,  but 
never  to  assemblies.  But  it  is  often  given  to  one  man  to 


DAYS   OF  TEIAL  181 

work  out  the  salvation  of  a  people,  and  be  destroyed  for 
it.  Davy,  we  have  been  up  too  long." 

At  the  morning  parade,  from  my  wonted  place  at  the 
end  of  the  line,  I  watched  him  with  astonishment,  review 
ing  the  troops  as  usual.  For  the  very  first  day  I  had 
crossed  the  river  with  Terence,  climbed  the  heights  to  the 
old  fort,  and  returned  with  my  drum.  But  no  sooner  had 
I  beaten  the  retreat  than  the  men  gathered  here  and  there 
in  groups  that  smouldered  with  mutiny,  and  I  noted  that 
some  of  the  officers  were  amongst  these.  Once  in  a  while 
a  sentence  like  a  naming  brand  was  flung  out.  Their  time 
was  up,  their  wives  and  children  for  all  they  knew  sculped 
by  the  red  varmints,  and,  by  the  etarnal,  Clark  or  no  man 
living  could  keep  them. 

"Hi,"  said  one,  as  I  passed,  "here's  Davy  with  his 
drum.  He'll  be  leadin'  us  back  to  Kaintuck  in  the 
morning." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  another  man  in  the  group,  "  I  reckon 
he's  had  his  full  of  tyranny,  too." 

I  stopped,  my  face  blazing  red. 

"  Shame  on  you  for  those  words  !  "  I  shouted  shrilly. 
"  Shame  on  you,  you  fools,  to  desert  the  man  who  would 
save  your  wives  and  children.  How  are  the  redskins  to 
be  beaten  if  they  are  not  cowed  in  their  own  country  ?  " 
For  I  had  learned  much  at  headquarters. 

They  stood  silent,  astonished,  no  dcubt,  at  the  sight  of 
my  small  figure  a-tremble  with  anger.  I  heard  Bill 
Cowan's  voice  behind  me. 

"  There's  truth  for  ye,"  he  said,  "  that  will  slink  home 
when  a  thing's  half  done." 

"  Ye  needn't  talk,  Bill  Cowan  ;  it's  well  enough  for  ye. 
I  reckon  your  wife'd  scare  any  redskin  off  her  clearin'." 

"  Many  the  time  she  scart  me,"  said  Bill  Cowan. 

And  so  the  matter  went  by  with  a  laugh.  But  the 
grumbling  continued,  and  the  danger  was  that  the  French 
would  learn  of  it.  The  day  passed,  yet  the  embers  blazed 
not  into  the  flame  of  open  mutiny.  But  he  who  has  seen 
service  knows  how  ominous  is  the  gathering  of  men  here 
and  there,  the  low  humming  talk,  the  silence  when  a 


182  THE  CROSSING 

dissenter  passes.  There  were  fights,  too,  that  had  to  be 
quelled  by  company  captains,  and  no  man  knew  when  the 
loud  quarrel  between  the  two  races  at  Vigo's  store  would 
grow  into  an  ugly  battle. 

What  did  Clark  intend  to  do  ?  This  was  the  question 
that  hung  in  the  minds  of  mutineer  and  faithful  alike. 
They  knew  the  desperation  of  his  case.  Without  money, 
save  that  which  the  generous  Creoles  had  advanced  upon 
his  personal  credit ;  without  apparent  resources  ;  without 
authority,  save  that  which  the  weight  of  his  character 
exerted, — how  could  he  prevent  desertion  ?  They  eyed  him 
as  he  went  from  place  to  place  about  his  business,  —  erect, 
thoughtful,  undisturbed.  Few  men  dare  to  set  their  will 
against  a  multitude  when  there  are  no  fruits  to  be  won. 
Columbus  persisted,  and  found  a  new  world  ;  Clark  per 
sisted,  and  won  an  empire  for  thoughtless  generations  to 
enjoy. 

That  night  he  slept  not  at  all,  but  sat,  while  the  candles 
flickered  in  their  sockets,  poring  over  maps  and  papers. 
I  dared  not  disturb  him,  but  lay  the  darkness  through 
with  staring  eyes.  And  when  the  windows  on  the  orchard 
side  showed  a  gray  square  of  light,  he  flung  down  the 
parchment  he  was  reading  on  the  table.  It  rolled  up  of 
itself,  and  he  pushed  back  his  chair.  I  heard  him  call  my 
name,  and  leaping  out  of  bed,  I  stood  before  him. 

"  You  sleep  lightly,  Davy,"  he  said,  I  think  to  try  me. 

I  did  not  answer,  fearing  to  tell  him  that  I  had  been 
awake  watching  him. 

"  I  have  one  friend,  at  least,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  You  have  many,  sir,"  I  answered,  "  as  you  will  find 
when  the  time  comes." 

"  The  time  has  come,"  said  he ;  "  to-day  I  shall  be  able  to 
count  them.  Davy,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  Now,  sir  ?  "  I  answered,  overjoyed. 

"  As  soon  as  the  sun  strikes  that  orchard,"  he  said, 
pointing  out  of  the  window.  "  You  have  learned  how  to 
keep  things  to  yourself.  Now  I  want  you  to  impart  them 
to  others.  Go  out,  and  tell  the  village  that  I  am  going 
away." 


DAYS   OF  TRIAL  183 

"  That  you  are  going  away,  sir  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"That  I  am  going  away,"  he  said,  "with  my  army, 
(save  the  mark  !  ),  with  my  army  and  my  drummer  boy 
and  my  paper  money.  Such  is  my  faith  in  the  loyalty  of 
the  good  people  of  these  villages  to  the  American  cause, 
that  I  can  safely  leave  the  flag  flying  over  their  heads 
with  the  assurance  that  they  will  protect  it." 

I  stared  at  him  doubtfully,  for  at  times  a  pleasantry 
came  out  of  his  bitterness. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  go  !     Have  you  any  love  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  have,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  By  the  Lord,  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  and  picking  up 
my  small  hunting  shirt,  he  flung  it  at  me.  "  Put  it  on, 
and  go  when  the  sun  rises." 

As  the  first  shaft  of  light  over  the  bluff  revealed  the 
diamonds  in  the  orchard  grass  I  went  out,  wondering. 
Suspecting  would  be  a  better  word  for  the  nature  I  had 
inherited.  But  I  had  my  orders.  Terence  was  pacing 
the  garden,  his  leggings  turned  black  with  the  dew.  I 
looked  at  him.  Here  was  a  vessel  to  disseminate. 

"  Terence,  the  Colonel  is  going  back  to  Virginia  with 
the  army." 

"  Him  ! "  cried  Terence,  dropping  the  stock  of  his 
Deckard  to  the  ground.  "  And  back  to  Kaintuckee  ! 
Arrah,  'tis  a  sin  to  be  jokin'  before  a  man  has  a  bit  in  his 
sthummick.  Bad  cess  to  yere  plisantry  before  breakfast." 

"  I'm  telling  you  what  the  Colonel  himself  told  me,"  I 
answered,  and  ran  on.  "  Davy,  darlin'  !  "  I  heard  him 
calling  after  me  as  I  turned  the  corner,  but  I  looked  not 
back. 

There  was  a  single  sound  in  the  street.  A  thin, 
bronzed  Indian  lad  squatted  against  the  pickets  with  his 
fingers  on  a  reed,  his  cheeks  distended.  He  broke  off 
with  a  wild,  mournful  note  to  stare  at  me.  A  wisp  of 
smoke  stole  from  a  stone  chimney,  and  the  smell  that 
corn-pone  and  bacon  leave  was  in  the  air.  A  bolt  was 
slammed  back,  a  door  creaked  and  stuck,  was  flung  open, 
and  with  a  "  Va  t'en,  mediant!"  a  cotton-clad  urchin  was 
cast  out  of  the  house,  and  fled  into  the  dusty  street. 


184  THE   CROSSING 

Breathing  the  morning  air  in  the  doorway,  stood  a  young 
woman  in  a  cotton  gown,  a  saucepan  in  hand.  She  had 
inquisitive  eyes,  a  pointed,  prying  nose,  and  I  knew  her  to 
be  the  village  gossip,  the  wife  of  Jules,  Monsieur  Vigo's 
clerk.  She  had  the  same  smattering  of  English  as  her 
husband.  Now  she  stood  regarding  me  narrowly  between 
half-closed  lids. 

"  A  la  bonne  heure  !  Que  fais-tu  done  ?  What  do  you  do 
so  early  ?  " 

"  The  garrison  is  getting  ready  to  leave  for  Kentucky 
to-day,"  I  answered. 

"Ha!  Jules!  Ecoute-toi!  Nomdedieu!  Is  it  true  what 
you  say  ?  " 

The  visage  of  Jules,  surmounted  by  a  nightcap  and 
heavy  with  sleep,  appeared  behind  her. 

"  Ha,  c'est  Daveed  !  "  he  said.   "  What  news  have  you  ?  " 

I  repeated,  whereupon  they  both  began  to  lament. 

"  And  why  is  it  ?  "  persisted  Jules. 

"  He  has  such  faith  in  the  loyalty  of  the  Kaskaskians," 
I  answered,  parrot-like. 

"  Diable  !  "  cried  Jules,  "  we  shall  perish.  We  shall  be 
as  the  Acadians.  And  loyalty — she  will  not  save  us,  no." 

Other  doors  creaked.  Other  inhabitants  came  in  varied 
costumes  into  the  street  to  hear  the  news,  lamenting.  If 
Clark  left,  the  day  of  judgment  was  at  hand  for  them, 
that  was  certain.  Between  the  savage  and  the  Briton 
not  one  stone  would  be  left  standing  on  another.  Madame 
Jules  forgot  her  breakfast,  and  fled  up  the  street  with  the 
tidings.  And  then  I  made  my  way  to  the  fort,  where  the 
men  were  gathering  about  the  camp-fires,  talking  excitedly. 
Terence,  relieved  from  duty,  had  done  the  work  here. 

"  And  he  as  little  as  a  fox,  wid  all  that  in  him,"  he 
cried,  when  he  perceived  me  walking  demurely  past  the 
sentry.  "  Davy,  dear,  come  here  an'  tell  the  b'ys  am  I  a 
liar." 

"  Davy's  monstrous  cute,"  said  Bill  Cowan  ;  "  I  reckon 
he  knows  as  well  as  me  the  Colonel  hain't  a-goin'  to  do  no 
such  tomfool  thing  as  leave." 

"  He  is,"  I  cried,  for  the  benefit  of  some  others,  "  he's 


DAYS   OF  TRIAL  185 

fair  sick  of  grumblers  that  haven't  got  the  grit  to  stand 
by  him  in  trouble." 

"  By  the  Lord  !  "  said  Bill  Cowan,  "  and  I'll  not  blame 
him."  He  turned  fiercely,  his  face  reddening.  "Shame 
on  ye  all  yere  lives,"  he  shouted.  "  Ye're  making  the 
best  man  that  ever  led  a  regiment  take  the  back  trail. 
Ye'll  fetch  back  to  Kaintuck,  and  draw  every  redskin  in 
the  north  woods  suckin'  after  ye  like  leaves  in  a  harri- 
cane  wind.  There  hain't  a  man  of  ye  has  the  pluck  of 
this  little  shaver  that  beats  the  drum.  I  wish  to  God 
McChesney  was  here." 

He  turned  away  to  cross  the  parade  ground,  followed 
by  the  faithful  Terence  and  myself.  Others  gathered 
about  him  :  McAndrew,  who,  for  all  his  sourness,  was 
true  ;  Swein  Poulsson,  who  would  have  died  for  the 
Colonel;  John  Duff,  and  some  twenty  more,  including 
Saunders,  whose  affection  had  not  been  killed,  though 
Clark  had  nearly  hanged  him  among  the  prairies. 

"Begob!"  said  Terence,  "Davy  has  inflooence  wid  his 
Excellency.  It's  Davy  we'll  sind,  prayin'  him  not  to 
lave  the  Frinch  alone  wid  their  loyalty." 

It  was  agreed,  and  I  was  to  repeat  the  name  of  every 
man  that  sent  me. 

Departing  on  this  embassy,  I  sped  out  of  the  gates  of 
the  fort.  But,  as  I  approached  the  little  house  where 
Clark  lived,  the  humming  of  a  crowd  came  to  my  ears, 
and  I  saw  with  astonishment  that  the  street  was  blocked. 
It  appeared  that  the  whole  of  the  inhabitants  of  Kaskas- 
kia  were  packed  in  front  of  the  place.  Wriggling  my 
way  through  the  people,  I  had  barely  reached  the  gate 
when  I  saw  Monsieur  Vigo  and  the  priest,  three  Creole 
gentlemen  in  uniform,  and  several  others  coming  out  of 
the  door.  They  stopped,  and  Monsieur  Vigo,  raising  his 
hand  for  silence,  made  a  speech  in  French  to  the  people. 
What  he  said  I  could  not  understand,  and  when  he  had 
finished  they  broke  up  into  groups,  and  many  of  them  de 
parted.  Before  I  could  gam  the  house,  Colonel  Clark 
himself  came  out  with  Captain  Helm  and  Captain  Harrod. 
The  Colonel  glanced  at  me  and  smiled. 


186  THE  CROSSING 

"  Parade,  Davy,"  he  said,  and  walked  on. 

I  ran  back  to  the  fort,  and  when  I  had  gotten  my  drum 
the  three  companies  were  falling  into  line,  the  men 
murmuring  in  undertones  among  themselves.  They  were 
brought  to  attention.  Colonel  Clark  was  seen  to  come 
out  of  the  commandant's  house,  and  we  watched  him 
furtively  as  he  walked  slowly  to  his  place  in  front  of  the 
line.  A  tremor  of  excitement  went  from  sergeant  to 
drummer  boy.  The  sentries  closed  the  big  gates  of  the 
fort. 

The  Colonel  stood  for  a  full  minute  surveying  us 
calmly,  —  a  disquieting  way  he  had  when  matters  were  at 
a  crisis.  Then  he  began  to  talk. 

"  I  have  heard  from  many  sources  that  you  are  dissatis 
fied,  that  you  wish  to  go  back  to  Kentucky.  If  that  be  so, 
I  say  to  you,  'Go,  and  God  be  with  you.'  I  will  hinder 
no  man.  We  have  taken  a  brave  and  generous  people 
into  the  fold  of  the  Republic,  and  they  have  shown  their 
patriotism  by  giving  us  freely  of  their  money  and  stores." 
He  raised  his  voice.  "  They  have  given  the  last  proof  of 
that  patriotism  this  day.  Yes,  they  have  come  to  me  and 
offered  to  take  your  places,  to  finish  the  campaign  which 
you  have  so  well  begun  and  wish  to  abandon.  To-day  I 
shall  enroll  their  militia  under  the  flag  for  which  you 
have  fought." 

When  he  had  ceased  speaking  a  murmur  ran  through 
the  ranks. 

"  But  if  there  be  any,"  he  said,  "  who  have  faith  in  me 
and  in  the  cause  for  which  we  have  come  here,  who  have 
the  perseverance  and  the  courage  to  remain,  I  will  reen- 
list  them.  The  rest  of  you  shall  march  for  Kentucky," 
he  cried,  "  as  soon  as  Captain  Bowman's  company  can  be 
relieved  at  Cahokia.  The  regiment  is  dismissed." 

For  a  moment  they  remained  in  ranks,  as  though 
stupefied.  It  was  Cowan  who  stepped  out  first,  snatched 
his  coonskin  hat  from  his  head,  and  waved  it  in  the  air. 

"Huzzay  for  Colonel  Clark!"  he  roared.  "I'll  f oiler 
him  into  Canady,  and  stand  up  to  my  lick  log." 

They  surrounded  Bill  Cowan,  not  the  twenty  which 


DAYS   OF  TRIAL  187 

had  flocked  to  him  in  the  morning,  but  four  times  twenty, 
and  they  marched  in  a  body  to  the  commandant's  house 
to  be  reenlisted.  The  Colonel  stood  by  the  door,  and 
there  came  a  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  regarded  us.  They 
cheered  him  again. 

"Thank  you,  lads,"  he  said;  "remember,  we  may  have 
to  whistle  for  our  pay." 

"  Damn  the  pay!  "  cried  Bill  Cowan,  and  we  echoed  the 
sentiment. 

"  We'll  see  what  can  be  done  about  land  grants,"  said 
the  Colonel,  and  he  turned  away. 

At  dusk  that  evening  I  sat  on  the  back  door-step,  by  the 
orchard,  cleaning  his  rifle.  The  sound  of  steps  came  from 
the  little  passage  behind  me,  and  a  hand  was  on  my  head. 

"  Davee,"  said  a  voice  (it  was  Monsieur  Vigo's),  "  do 
you  know  what  is  un  coup  d'etat?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Ha !  You  execute  one  to-day.  Is  it  not  so,  Monsieur 
le  Colonel  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  he  was  in  the  secret,"  said  Colonel  Clark. 
"  Did  you  think  I  meant  to  leave  Kaskaskia,  Davy  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  He  is  not  so  easy  fool,"  Monsieur  Vigo  put  in.  "  He 
tell  me  paper  money  good  if  I  take  it.  G'e«t  la  haute 
finance  !  " 

Colonel  Clark  laughed. 

"  And  why  didn't  you  think  I  meant  to  leave  ?  "  said 
he. 

"  Because  you  bade  me  go  out  and  tell  everybody,"  I 
answered.  "  What  you  really  mean  to  do  you  tell  no 
one." 

"  Nom  du  bon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  Vigo. 

Yesterday  Colonel  Clark  had  stood  alone,  the  enter 
prise  for  which  he  had  risked  all  on  the  verge  of  failure. 
By  a  master-stroke  his  ranks  were  repleted,  his  position 
recovered,  his  authority  secured  once  more. 

Few  men  recognize  genius  when  they  see  it.  Monsieur 
Vigo  was  not  one  of  these. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

DAVY  GOES    TO   CAHOKIA 

I  SHOULD  make  but  a  poor  historian,  for  I  have  not 
stuck  to  ray  chronology.  But  as  I  write,  the  vivid  recol 
lections  are  those  that  I  set  down.  I  have  forgotten  two 
things  of  great  importance.  First,  the  departure  of 
Father  Gibault  with  several  Creole  gentlemen  and  a  spy 
of  Colonel  Clark's  for  Vincennes,  and  their  triumphant 
return  in  August.  The  sacrifice  of  the  good  priest  had 
not  been  in  vain,  and  he  came  back  with  the  joyous  news 
of  a  peaceful  conquest.  The  stars  and  stripes  now  waved 
over  the  fort,  and  the  French  themselves  had  put  it  there. 
And  the  vast  stretch  of  country  from  that  place  westward 
to  the  Father  of  Waters  was  now  American. 

And  that  brings  me  to  the  second  oversight.  The 
surprise  and  conquest  of  Cahokia  by  Bowman  and  his  men 
was  like  that  of  Kaskaskia.  And  the  French  there  were 
loyal,  too,  offering  their  militia  for  service  in  the  place 
of  those  men  of  Bowman's  company  who  would  not 
reenlist.  These  came  to  Kaskaskia  to  join  our  home-goers, 
and  no  sooner  had  the  hundred  marched  out  of  the  gate 
and  taken  up  their  way  for  Kentucky  than  Colonel  Clark 
began  the  drilling  of  the  new  troops. 

Captain  Leonard  Helm  was  sent  to  take  charge  of 
Vincennes,  and  Captain  Montgomery  set  out  across  the 
mountains  for  Williamsburg  with  letters  praying  the 
governor  of  Virginia  to  come  to  our  assistance. 

For  another  cloud  had  risen  in  the  horizon  :  another 
problem  for  Clark  to  face  of  greater  portent  than  all  the 
others.  A  messenger  from  Captain  Bowman  at  Cohos 
came  riding  down  the  street  on  a  scraggly  French  pony, 
and  pulled  up  before  headquarters.  The  messenger  was 

188 


DAVY  GOES   TO   CAHOKIA  189 

Sergeant  Thomas  McChesney,  and  his  long  legs  almost 
reached  the  ground  on  either  side  of  the  little  beast. 
Leaping  from  the  saddle,  he  seized  me  in  his  arms,  set  me 
down,  and  bade  me  tell  Colonel  Clark  of  his  arrival. 

It  was  a  sultry  August  morning.  Within  the  hour 
Colonel  Clark  and  Tom  and  myself  were  riding  over  the 
dusty  trace  that  wound  westward  across  the  common  lands 
of  the  village,  which  was  known  as  the  Fort  Chartres 
road.  The  heat-haze  shimmered  in  the  distance,  and 
there  was  no  sound  in  plain  or  village  save  the  tinkle  of  a 
cowbell  from  the  clumps  of  shade.  Colonel  Clark  rode 
twenty  paces  in  front,  alone,  his  head  bowed  with  thinking. 

"  They're  coming  into  Cahokia  as  thick  as  bees  out'n 
a  gum,  Davy,"  said  Tom  ;  "  seems  like  there's  thousands  of 
'em.  Nothin'  will  do  'em  but  they  must  see  the  Colonel,  — 
the  varmints.  And  they've  got  patience,  they'll  wait 
thar  till  the  b'ars  git  fat.  I  reckon  they  'low  Clark's 
got  the  armies  of  Congress  behind  him.  If  they  knowed," 
said  Tom,  with  a  chuckle,  "  if  they  knowed  that  we'd  only 
got  seventy  of  the  boys  and  some  hundred  Frenchies  in 
the  army !  I  reckon  the  Colonel's  too  cute  for  'em." 

The  ravages  in  Cahokia  were  as  the  leaves  of  the  forest. 
Curiosity,  that  mainspring  of  the  Indian  character,  had 
brought  the  chiefs,  big  and  little,  to  see  with  their  own 
eyes  the  great  Captain  of  the  Long  Knives.  In  vain  had 
the  faithful  Bowman  put  them  off.  They  would  wait. 
Clark  must  come.  And  Clark  was  coming,  for  he  was 
not  the  man  to  quail  at  such  a  crisis.  For  the  crux  of 
the  whole  matter  was  here.  And  if  he  failed  to  impress 
them  with  his  power,  with  the  might  of  the  Congress  for 
which  he  fought,  no  man  of  his  would  ever  see  Kentucky 
again. 

As  we  rode  through  the  bottom  under  the  pecan  trees 
we  talked  of  Polly  Ann,  Tom  and  I,  and  of  our  little  home 
by  the  Salt  River  far  to  the  southward,  where  we  would 
live  in  peace  when  the  campaign  was  over.  Tom  had 
written  her,  painfully  enough,  an  affectionate  scrawl, 
which  he  sent  by  one  of  Captain  Linn's  men.  And  I,  too, 
had  written.  My  letter  had  been  about  Tom,  and  how 


190  THE  CROSSING 

he  had  become  a  sergeant,  and  what  a  favorite  he  was 
with  Bowman  and  the  Colonel.  Poor  Polly  Ann  !  She 
could  not  write,  but  a  runner  from  Harrodstown  who  was 
a  friend  of  Tom's  had  carried  all  the  way  to  Cahokia,  in 
the  pocket  with  his  despatches,  a  fold  of  nettle-bark  linen. 
Tom  pulled  it  from  the  bosom  of  his  hunting  shirt  to 
show  me,  and  in  it  was  a  little  ring  of  hair  like  unto  the 
finest  spun  red-gold.  This  was  the  message  Polly  Ann  had 
sent,  —  a  message  from  little  Tom  as  well. 

At  Prairie  du  Rocher,  at  St.  Philippe,  the  inhabitants 
lined  the  streets  to  do  homage  to  this  man  of  strange 
power  who  rode,  unattended  and  unafraid,  to  the  council 
of  the  savage  tribes  which  had  terrorized  his  people  of 
Kentucky.  From  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Chartres  (once 
one  of  the  mighty  chain  of  strongholds  to  protect  a  new 
France,  and  now  deserted  like  Massacre),  I  gazed  for  the 
first  time  in  awe  at  the  turgid  flood  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
at  the  lands  of  the  Spanish  king  beyond.  With  never 
ceasing  fury  the  river  tore  at  his  clay  banks  and  worried 
the  green  islands  that  braved  his  charge.  And  my 
boyish  fancy  pictured  to  itself  the  monsters  which  might 
lie  hidden  in  his  muddy  depths. 

We  lay  that  night  in  the  open  at  a  spring  on  the  bluffs, 
and  the  next  morning  beheld  the  church  tower  of  Cahokia. 
A  little  way  from  the  town  we  perceived  an  odd  gathering 
on  the  road,  the  yellowed  and  weathered  hunting  shirts 
of  Bowman's  company  mixed  with  the  motley  dress  of  the 
Creole  volunteers.  Some  of  these  gentlemen  wore  the  cos 
tume  of  coureurs  du  bois,  others  had  odd  regimental  coats  and 
hats  which  had  seen  much  service.  Besides  the  military 
was  a  sober  deputation  of  citizens,  and  hovering  behind 
the  whole  a  horde  of  curious,  blanketed  braves,  come  to 
get  a  first  glimpse  of  the  great  white  captain.  So  escorted, 
we  crossed  at  the  mill,  came  to  a  shady  street  that  faced  the 
little  river,  and  stopped  at  the  stone  house  where  Colonel 
Clark  was  to  abide. 

On  that  day,  and  for  many  days  more,  that  street  was 
thronged  with  warriors.  Chiefs  in  gala  dress  strutted  up 
and  down,  feathered  and  plumed  and  blanketed,  smeared 


DAVY  GOES  TO   CAHOKIA  191 

with,  paint,  bedecked  with  rude  jewellery,  —  earrings  and 
bracelets.  From  the  remote  forests  of  the  north  they  had 
come,  where  the  cold  winds  blow  off  the  blue  lakes  ;  from 
the  prairies  to  the  east ;  from  the  upper  running  waters, 
where  the  Mississippi  flows  clear  and  undefiled  by  the 
muddy  flood ;  from  the  villages  and  wigwams  of  the  slug 
gish  W abash ;  and  from  the  sandy,  piny  country  between 
the  great  northern  seas  where  Michilimackinac  stands 
guard  alone,  —  Sacs  and  Foxes,  Chippeways  and  Maumies 
and  Missesogies,  Puans  and  Pottawattomies,  chiefs  and 
medicine  men. 

Well  might  the  sleep  of  the  good  citizens  be  disturbed, 
and  the  women  fear  to  venture  to  the  creek  with  their 
linen  and  their  paddles  ! 

The  lives  of  these  people  hung  in  truth  upon  a  slender 
thing — the  bearing  of  one  man.  All  day  long  the  great 
chiefs  sought  an  audience  with  him,  but  he  sent  them  word 
that  matters  would  be  settled  in  the  council  that  was  to 
come.  All  day  long  the  warriors  lined  the  picket  fence  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  more  than  once  Tom  McChesney 
roughly  shouldered  a  lane  through  them  that  timid  visitors 
might  pass.  Like  a  pack  of  wolves,  they  watched  narrowly 
for  any  sign  of  weakness.  As  for  Tom,  they  were  to  him 
as  so  many  dogs. 

"  Ye  varmints  !  "  he  cried,  "  I'll  take  a  blizz'rd  at  ye  if 
ye  don't  keep  the  way  clear." 

At  that  they  would  give  back  grudgingly  with  a  chorus 
of  grunts,  only  to  close  in  again  as  tightly  as  before.  But 
they  came  to  have  a  wholesome  regard  for  the  sun-browned 
man  with  the  red  hair  who  guarded  the  Colonel's  privacy. 
The  boy  who  sat  on  the  door-step,  the  son  of  the  great  Pale 
Face  Chief  (as  they  called  me),  was  a  never  ending  source 
of  comment  among  them.  Once  Colonel  Clark  sent  for 
me.  The  little  front  room  of  this  house  was  not  unlike 
the  one  we  had  occupied  at  Kaskaskia.  It  had  bare  walls, 
a  plain  table  and  chairs,  and  a  crucifix  in  the  corner.  It 
served  as  dining  room,  parlor,  bedroom,  for  there  was  a 
pallet  too.  Now  the  table  was  covered  with  parchments 
and  papers,  and  beside  Colonel  Clark  sat  a  grave  gentle- 


192  THE  CROSSING 

man  of  about  his  own  age.  As  I  came  into  the  room 
Colonel  Clark  relaxed ,  turned  toward  this  gentleman,  and 
said :  — 

"  Monsieur  Gratiot,  behold  my  commissary-general,  my 
strategist,  my  financier."  And  Monsieur  Gratiot  smiled. 
He  struck  me  as  a  man  who  never  let  himself  go  sufficiently 
to  laugh. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  Vigo  has  told  me  how  he  settled  the 
question  of  paper  money.  He  might  do  something  for  the 
Congress  in  the  East." 

"  Davy  is  a  Scotchman,  like  John  Law,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  and  he  is  a  master  at  perceiving  a  man's  character  and 
business." 

"  What  would  you  call  me,  at  a  venture,  Davy  ?  "  asked 
Monsieur  Gratiot. 

He  spoke  excellent  English,  with  only  a  slight  accent. 

"  A  citizen  of  the  world,  like  Monsieur  Vigo,"  I  answered 
at  a  hazard. 

" Pardieu !  "  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  "you  are  not  far 
away.  Like  Monsieur  Vigo  I  keep  a  store  here  at  Cahokia. 
Like  Monsieur  Vigo,  I  have  travelled  much  in  my  day.  Do 
you  know  where  Switzerland  is,  Davy?" 

I  did  not. 

"  It  is  a  country  set  like  a  cluster  of  jewels  in  the  heart 
of  Europe,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  "  and  there  are  moun 
tains  there  that  rise  among  the  clouds  and  are  covered  with 
perpetual  snows.  And  when  the  sun  sets  on  those  snows 
they  are  rubies,  and  the  skies  above  them  sapphire." 

"  I  was  born  amongst  the  mountains,  sir,"  I  answered, 
my  pulse  quickening  at  his  description,  "but  they  were 
not  so  high  as  those  you  speak  of." 

"  Then,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  "  you  can  under 
stand  a  little  my  sorrow  as  a  lad  when  I  left  it.  From 
Switzerland  I  went  to  a  foggy  place  called  London,  and 
thence  I  crossed  the  ocean  to  the  solemn  forests  of  the 
north  of  Canada,  where  I  was  many  years,  learning  the 
characters  of  these  gentlemen  who  are  looking  in  upon  us." 
And  he  waved  his  arm  at  the  line  of  peering  red  faces  by 
the  pickets.  Monsieur  Gratiot  smiled  at  Clark.  "And 


DAVY  GOES   TO   CAHOKIA  193 

there's  another  point  of  resemblance  between  myself  and 
Monsieur  Vigo." 

"  Have  you  taken  the  paper  money  ?  "  I  demanded. 

Monsieur  Gratiot  slapped  his  linen  breeches.  "  That  1 
have,"  and  this  time  I  thought  he  was  going  to  laugh. 
But  he  did  not,  though  his  eyes  sparkled.  "  And  do 
you  think  that  the  good  Congress  will  ever  repay  me, 
Davy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Peste  !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  Gratiot,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  offended  or  shaken. 

"Davy,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  "we  have  had  enough  of 
predictions  for  the  present.  Fetch  this  letter  to  Captain 
Bowman  at  the  garrison  up  the  street."  He  handed  me 
the  letter.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  the  Indians  ?  " 

"  If  I  were,  sir,  I  would  not  show  it,"  I  said,  for  he  had 
encouraged  me  to  talk  freely  to  him. 

"  Avast !  "  cried  the  Colonel,  as  I  was  going  out.  "  And 
why  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  show  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  them,  sir,  they  will 
think  that  you  are  the  less  so." 

"  There  you  are  for  strategy,  Gratiot,'.'  said  Colonel 
Clark,  laughing.  "  Get  out,  you  rascal." 

Tom  was  more  concerned  when  I  appeared. 

"  Don't  pester  'em,  Davy,"  said  he  ;  "  fer  God's  sake  don't 
pester  'em.  They're  spoilin'  fer  a  fight.  Stand  back  thar, 
ye  critters,"  he  shouted,  brandishing  his  rifle  in  their  faces. 
"  Ugh,  I  reckon  it  wouldn't  take  a  horse  or  a  dog  to  scent 
ye  to-day.  Rank  b'ar's  oil !  Kite  along,  Davy." 

Clutching  the  letter  tightly,  I  slipped  between  the  nar 
rowed  ranks,  and  gained  the  middle  of  the  street,  not  with 
out  a  quickened  beat  of  my  heart.  Thence  I  sped,  dodging 
this  group  and  that,  until  I  came  to  the  long  log  house 
that  was  called  the  garrison.  Here  our  men  were  stationed, 
where  formerly  a  squad  from  an  English  regiment  was 
quartered.  I  found  Captain  Bowman,  delivered  the  let 
ter,  and  started  back  again  through  tb  brown,  dusty 
street,  which  lay  in  the  shade  of  the  great  forest  trees  that 
still  lined  it,  doubling  now  and  again  to  avoid  an  idling 


194  THE  CROSSING 

brave  that  looked  bent  upon  mischief.  For  a  single  mis 
chance  might  set  the  tide  running  to  massacre. 

I  was  nearing  the  gate  again,  the  dust  flying  from  my 
moccasined  feet,  the  sight  of  the  stalwart  Tom  giving  me 
courage  again.  Suddenly,  with  the  deftness  of  a  panther, 
an  Indian  shot  forward  and  lifted  me  high  in  his  arms. 
To  this  day  I  recall  my  terror  as  I  dangled  in  mid-air,  star 
ing  into  a  hideous  face.  By  intuition  I  kicked  him  in  the 
stomach  with  all  my  might,  and  with  a  howl  of  surprise 
and  rage  his  fingers  gripped  into  my  flesh.  The  next 
thing  I  remember  was  being  in  the  dust,  suffocated  by  that 
odor  which  he  who  has  known  it  can  never  forget.  A 
medley  of  discordant  cries  was  in  my  ears.  Then  I  was 
snatched  up,  bumped  against  heads  and  shoulders,  and 
deposited  somewhere.  Now  it  was  Tom's  face  that  was 
close  to  mine,  and  the  light  of  a  fierce  anger  was  in  his 
blue  eyes. 

"  Did  they  hurt  ye,  Davy  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  shook  my  head.  Before  I  could  speak  he  was  at  the 
gate  again,  confronting  the  mob  of  savages  that  swayed 
against  the  fence,  and  the  street  was  filled  with  running 
figures.  A  voice  of  command  that  I  knew  well  came  from 
behind  me.  It  was  Colonel  Clark's. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  McChesney! ''  he  shouted,  and 
Tom  halted  with  his  hand  on  the  latch. 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  speak  to  them,"  said 
Monsieur  Gratiot,  who  had  come  out  also. 

I  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  was  as  calm  as  when  he  had 
joked  with  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  since. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Clark,  briefly. 

Monsieur  Gratiot  surveyed  them  scornfully. 

"  Where  is  the  Hungry  Wolf,  who  speaks  English?  "  he 
said. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  rear  ranks,  and  a  lean  savage 
with  abnormal  cheek  bones  pushed  forward. 

"  Hungry  Wolf  here,"  he  said  with  a  grunt. 

"  The  Hungry  Wolf  knew  the  French  trader  at  Michili- 
mackinac,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot.  "  He  knows  that  the 
French  trader's  word  is  a  true  word.  Let  the  Hungry 


DAVY  GOES  TO  CAHOKIA  195 

Wolf  tell  his  companions  that  the  Chief  of  the  Long  Knives 
is  very  angry." 

The  Hungry  Wolf  turned,  and  began  to  speak.  His 
words,  hoarse  and  resonant,  seemed  to  come  from  the 
depths  of  his  body.  Presently  he  paused,  and  there  came 
an  answer  from  the  fiend  who  had  seized  me.  After  that 
there  were  many  grunts,  and  the  Hungry  Wolf  turned 
again. 

"  The  North  Wind  mean  no  harm,"  he  answered.  "  He 
play  with  the  son  of  the  Great  White  Chief,  and  his  belly 
is  very  sore  where  the  Chief's  son  kicked  him." 

"  The  Chief  of  the  Long  Knives  will  consider  the 
offence,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  and  retired  into  the  house 
with  Colonel  Clark.  For  a  full  five  minutes  the  Indians 
waited,  impassive.  And  then  Monseiur  Gratiot  reap 
peared,  alone. 

"  The  Chief  of  the  Long  Knives  is  mercifully  inclined  to 
forgive,"  he  said.  "  It  was  in  play.  But  there  must  be  no 
more  play  with  the  Chief's  son.  And  the  path  to  the 
Great  Chief's  presence  must  be  kept  clear." 

Again  the  Hungry  Wolf  translated.  The  North  Wind 
grunted  and  departed  in  silence,  followed  by  many  of  his 
friends.  And  indeed  for  a  while  after  that  the  others  kept 
a  passage  clear  to  the  gate. 

As  for  the  son  of  the  Great  White  Chief,  he  sat  for  a 
long  time  that  afternoon  beside  the  truck  patch  of  the 
house.  And  presently  he  slipped  out  by  a  byway  into  the 
street  again,  among  the  savages.  His  heart  was  bumping 
in  his  throat,  but  a  boyish  reasoning  told  him  that  he  must 
show  no  fear.  And  that  day  he  found  what  his  Colonel 
had  long  since  learned  to  be  true  —  that  in  courage  is  the 
greater  safety.  The  power  of  the  Great  White  Chief  was 
such  that  he  allowed  his  son  to  go  forth  alone,  and  feared 
not  for  his  life.  Even  so  Clark  himself  walked  among 
them,  nor  looked  to  right  or  left. 

Two  nights  Colonel  Clark  sat  through,  calling  now  on 
this  man  and  now  on  that,  and  conning  the  treaties  which 
the  English  had  made  with  the  various  tribes  —  ay,  and 
French  and  Spanish  treaties  too  —  until  he  knew  them  all 


196  THE  CROSSING 

by  heart.  There  was  no  haste  in  what  he  did,  no  uneasi 
ness  in  his  manner.  He  listened  to  the  advice  of  Monsieur 
Gratiot  and  other  Creole  gentlemen  of  weight,  to  the  Span 
ish  officers  who  came  in  their  regimentals  from  St.  Louis 
out  of  curiosity  to  see  how  this  man  would  treat  with  the 
tribes.  For  he  spoke  of  his  intentions  to  none  of  them, 
and  gained  the  more  respect  by  it.  Within  the  week  the 
council  began;  and  the  scene  of  the  great  drama  was  a 
field  near  the  village,  the  background  of  forest  trees.  Few 
plays  on  the  world's  stage  have  held  such  suspense,  few  bat 
tles  such  excitement  for  those  who  watched.  Here  was  the 
spectacle  of  one  strong  man's  brain  pitted  against  the  com 
bined  craft  of  the  wilderness.  In  the  midst  of  a  stretch 
of  waving  grass  was  a  table,  and  a  young  man  of  six-aud- 
twenty  sat  there  alone.  Around  him  were  ringed  the 
gathered  tribes,  each  chief  in  the  order  of  his  importance 
squatted  in  the  inner  circle,  their  blankets  making  patches 
of  bright  color  against  the  green.  Behind  the  tribes  was 
the  little  group  of  hunting  shirts,  the  men  leaning  on  the 
barrels  of  their  long  rifles,  indolent  but  watchful.  Here 
and  there  a  gay  uniform  of  a  Spanish  or  Creole  officer,  and 
behind  these  all  the  population  of  the  village  that  dared  to 
show  itself. 

The  ceremonies  began  with  the  kindling  of  the  council 
fire,  —  a  rite  handed  down  through  unknown  centuries  of 
Indian  usage.  By  it  nations  had  been  made  and  unmade, 
broad  lands  passed,  even  as  they  now  might  pass.  The 
yellow  of  its  crackling  flames  was  shamed  by  the  summer 
sun,  and  the  black  smoke  of  it  was  wafted  by  the  south 
wind  over  the  forest.  Then  for  three  days  the  chiefs 
spoke,  and  a  man  listened,  unmoved.  The  sound  of  these 
orations,  wild  and  fearful  to  my  boyish  ear,  comes  back 
to  me  now.  Yet  there  was  a  cadence  in  it,  a  music  of 
notes  now  falling,  now  rising  to  a  passion  and  intensity 
that  thrilled  us. 

Bad  birds  flying  through  the  land  (the  British  agents) 
had  besought  them  to  take  up  the  bloody  hatchet.  They 
had  sinned.  They  had  listened  to  the  lies  which  the  bad 
birds  had  told  of  the  Big  Knives,  they  had  taken  their 


DAVY  GOES   TO   CAHOKIA  197 

presents.  But  now  the  Great  Spirit  in  His  wisdom  had 
brought  themselves  and  the  Chief  of  the  Big  Knives  to 
gether.  Therefore  (suiting  the  action  to  the  word)  they 
stamped  on  the  bloody  belt,  and  rent  in  pieces  the  em 
blems  of  the  White  King  across  the  water.  So  said  the 
interpreters,  as  the  chiefs  one  after  another  tore  the  minia 
ture  British  flags  which  had  been  given  them  into  bits. 
On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  the  White  Chief  rose  in 
his  chair,  gazing  haughtily  about  him.  There  was  a  deep 
silence. 

"  Tell  your  chiefs,"  he  said,  "  tell  your  chiefs  that  to 
morrow  I  will  give  them  an  answer.  And  upon  the  man 
ner  in  which  they  receive  that  answer  depends  the  fate  of 
your  nations.  Good  night." 

They  rose  and,  thronging  around  him,  sought  to  take 
his  hand.  But  Clark  turned  from  them. 

"  Peace  is  not  yet  come,"  he  said  sternly.  "  It  is  time 
to  take  the  hand  when  the  heart  is  given  with  it." 

A  feathered  headsman  of  one  of  the  tribes  gave  back 
with  dignity  and  spoke. 

"  It  is  well  said  by  the  Great  Chief  of  the  Pale  Faces,'* 
he  answered  ;  "  these  in  truth  are  not  the  words  of  a  man 
with  a  double  tongue." 

So  they  sought  their  quarters  for  the  night,  and  sus 
pense  hung  breathless  over  the  village. 

There  were  many  callers  at  the  stone  house  that 
evening,  —  Spanish  officers,  Creole  gentlemen,  an  English 
Canadian  trader  or  two.  With  my  elbow  on  the  sill  of 
the  open  window  I  watched  them  awhile,  listening  with  a 
boy's  eagerness  to  what  they  had  to  say  of  the  day's  doings. 
They  disputed  amongst  themselves  in  various  degrees 
of  English  as  to  the  manner  of  treating  the  red  man,  — 
now  gesticulating,  now  threatening,  now  seizing  a  rolled 
parchment  treaty  from  the  table.  Clark  sat  alone,  a  little 
apart,  silent  save  a  word  now  and  then  in  a  low  tone  to 
Monsieur  Gratiot  or  Captain  Bowman.  Here  was  an  odd 
assortment  of  the  races  which  had  overrun  the  new  world. 
At  intervals  some  disputant  would  pause  in  his  talk  to 
kill  a  mosquito  or  fight  away  a  moth  or  a  June-bug,  but 


198  THE  CEOSSING 

presently  the  argument  reached  such  a  pitch  that  the  mos 
quitoes  fed  undisturbed. 

"  You  have  done  much,  sir,"  said  the  Spanish  com 
mandant  of  St.  Louis,  "  but  the  savage,  he  will  never  be 
content  without  present.  He  will  never  be  won  without 
present." 

Clark  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  perforce  listened 
to  when  they  begin  to  speak. 

"  Captain  de  Leyba,"  said  he,  "  I  know  not  what  may  be 
the  present  policy  of  his  Spanish  Majesty  with  McGilli- 
vray  and  his  Creeks  in  the  south,  but  this  I  do  believe," 
and  he  brought  down  his  fist  among  the  papers,  "that 
the  old  French  and  Spanish  treaties  were  right  in  prin 
ciple.  Here  are  copies  of  the  English  treaties  that  I  have 
secured,  and  in  them  thousands  of  sovereigns  have  been 
thrown  away.  They  are  so  much  waste  paper.  Gentle 
men,  the  Indians  are  children.  If  you  give  them  presents, 
they  believe  you  to  be  afraid  of  them.  I  will  deal  with 
them  without  presents  ;  and  if  I  had  the  gold  of  the  Bank 
of  England  stored  in  the  garrison  there,  they  should  not 
touch  a  piece  of  it." 

But  Captain  de  Leyba,  incredulous,  raised  his  eyebrows 
and  shrugged. 

" Por  Dios"  he  cried,  "whoever  hear  of  one  man 
and  fifty  militia  subduing  the  northern  tribes  without  a 
piastre  f  " 

After  a  while  the  Colonel  called  me  in,  and  sent  me 
speeding  across  the  little  river  with  a  note  to  a  certain 
Mr.  Brady,  whose  house  was  not  far  away.  Like  many 
another  citizen  of  Cahokia,  Mr.  Brady  was  terror-ridden. 
A  party  of  young  Puan  bucks  had  decreed  it  to  be  their 
pleasure  to  encamp  in  Mr.  Brady's  yard,  to  peer  through 
the  shutters  into  Mr.  Brady's  house,  to  enjoy  themselves 
by  annoying  Mr.  Brady's  family  and  others  as  much  as 
possible.  During  the  Indian  occupation  of  Cahokia  this 
band  had  gained  a  well-deserved  reputation  for  mischief  ; 
and  chief  among  them  was  the  North  Wind  himself, 
whom  I  had  done  the  honor  to  kick  in  the  stomach. 
To-night  they  had  made  a  fire  in  this  Mr.  Brady's  flower- 


DAVY  GOES  TO  CAHOKIA  199 

garden,  over  which  they  were  cooking  venison  steaks. 
And,  as  I  reached  the  door,  the  North  Wind  spied  me, 
grinned,  rubbed  his  stomach,  made  a  false  dash  at  me  that 
frightened  me  out  of  my  wits,  and  finally  went  through 
the  pantomime  of  scalping  me.  I  stood  looking  at  him 
with  my  legs  apart,  for  the  son  of  the  Great  Chief  must 
not  run  away.  And  I  marked  that  the  North  Wind 
had  two  great  ornamental  daubs  like  shutter-fastenings 
painted  on  his  cheeks.  I  sniffed  preparation,  too,  on  his 
followers,  and  I  was  sure  they  were  getting  ready  for 
some  new  deviltry.  I  handed  the  note  to  Mr.  Brady 
through  the  crack  of  the  door  that  he  vouchsafed  to  me, 
and  when  he  had  slammed  and  bolted  me  out,  I  ran  into 
the  street  and  stood  for  some  time  behind  the  trunk  of  a 
big  hickory,  watching  the  followers  of  the  North  Wind. 
Some  were  painting  themselves,  others  cleaning  their 
rifles  and  sharpening  their  scalping  knives.  All  jabbered 
unceasingly.  Now  and  again  a  silent  brave  passed,  paused 
a  moment  to  survey  them  gravely,  grunted  an  answer  to 
something  they  would  fling  at  him,  and  went  on.  At 
length  arrived  three  chiefs  whom  I  knew  to  be  high  in 
the  councils.  The  North  Wind  came  out  to  them,  and 
the  four  blanketed  forms  stood  silhouetted  between  me 
and  the  fire  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  By  this  time  I  was 
sure  of  a  plot,  and  fled  away  to  another  tree  for  fear  of 
detection.  At  length  stalked  through  the  street  the 
Hungry  Wolf,  the  interpreter.  I  knew  this  man  to  be 
friendly  to  Clark,  and  I  acted  on  impulse.  He  gave  a 
grunt  of  surprise  when  I  halted  before  him.  I  made  up 
my  mind. 

"  The  son  of  the  Great  Chief  knows  that  the  Puans 
have  wickedness  in  their  hearts  to-night,"  I  said  ;  "  the 
tongue  of  the  Hungry  Wolf  does  not  lie." 

The  big  Indian  drew  back  with  another  grunt,  and  the 
distant  firelight  flashed  on  his  eyes  as  on  polished  black 
flints. 

"  Umrrhh  !     Is  the  Pale  Face  Chief's  son  a  prophet  ?  " 

"  The  anger  of  the  Pale  Face  Chief  and  of  his  country 
men  is  as  the  hurricane,"  I  said,  scarce  believing  my  own 


200  THE   CROSSING 

ears.  For  a  lad  is  imitative  by  nature,  and  I  had  not 
listened  to  the  interpreters  for  three  days  without  profit. 

The  Hungry  Wolf  grunted  again,  after  which  he  was 
silent  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  said  :  — 

"  Let  the  Chief  of  the  Long  Knives  have  guard  to 
night."  And  suddenly  he  was  gone  into  the  darkness. 

I  waded  the  creek  and  sped  to  Clark.  He  was  alone 
now,  the  shutters  of  the  room  closed.  And  as  I  came  in 
I  could  scarce  believe  that  he  was  the  same  masterful  man 
I  had  seen  at  the  council  that  day,  and  at  the  conference 
an  hour  gone.  He  was  once  more  the  friend  at  whose 
feet  I  sat  in  private,  who  talked  to  me  as  a  companion  and 
a  father. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Davy  ?  "  he  asked.  And  then, 
«  What  is  it,  my  lad  ?  " 

I  crept  close  to  him  and  told  him  in  a  breathless  under 
tone,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  shaking  the  while.  He 
listened  gravely,  and  when  I  had  finished  laid  a  firm  hand 
on  my  head. 

"There,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  brave  lad,  and  a  canny." 

He  thought  a  minute,  his  hand  still  resting  on  my  head, 
and  then  rose  and  led  me  to  the  back  door  of  the  house. 
It  was  near  midnight,  and  the  sounds  of  the  place  were 
stilling,  the  crickets  chirping  in  the  grass. 

"  Run  to  Captain  Bowman  and  tell  him  to  send  ten  men 
to  this  door.  But  they  must  come  man  by  man,  to  escape 
detection.  Do  you  understand  ? "  I  nodded  and  was 
starting,  but  he  still  held  me.  "  God  bless  you,  Davy, 
you  are  a  brave  boy." 

He  closed  the  door  softly  and  I  sped  away,  my  mocca 
sins  making  no  sound  on  the  soft  dirt.  I  reached  the 
garrison,  was  challenged  by  Jack  Terrill,  the  guard,  and 
brought  by  him  to  Bowman's  room.  The  Captain  sat,  un 
dressed,  at  the  edge  of  his  bed.  But  he  was  a  man  of 
action,  and  strode  into  the  long  room  where  his  company 
was  sleeping  and  gave  his  orders  without  delay. 

Half  an  hour  later  there  was  no  light  in  the  village. 
The  Colonel's  headquarters  were  dark,  but  in  the  kitchen 
a  dozen  tall  men  were  waiting. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    SACRIFICE 

So  far  as  the  world  knew,  the  Chief  of  the  Long  Knives 
slept  peacefully  in  his  house.  And  such  was  his  sense 
of  power  that  not  even  a  sentry  paced  the  street  without. 
For  by  these  things  is  the  Indian  mind  impressed.  In  the 
tiny  kitchen  a  dozen  men  and  a  boy  tried  to  hush  their 
breathing,  and  sweltered.  For  it  was  very  hot,  and  the 
pent-up  odor  of  past  cookings  was  stifling  to  men  used  to 
the  open.  In  a  corner,  hooded  under  a  box,  was  a  lighted 
lantern,  and  Tom  McChesney  stood  ready  to  seize  it  at 
the  first  alarm.  On  such  occasions  the  current  of  time 
runs  sluggish.  Thrice  our  muscles  were  startled  into 
tenseness  by  the  baying  of  a  hound,  and  once  a  cock  crew 
out  of  all  season.  For  the  night  was  cloudy  and  pitchy 
black,  and  the  dawn  as  far  away  as  eternity. 

Suddenly  I  knew  that  every  man  in  the  room  was  on 
the  alert,  for  the  skilled  frontiersman,  when  watchful,  has  a 
sixth  sense.  None  of  them  might  have  told  you  what  he  had 
heard.  The  next  sound  was  the  faint  creaking  of  Colonel 
Clark's  door  as  it  opened.  Wrapping  a  blanket  around 
the  lantern,  Tom  led  the  way,  and  we  massed  ourselves 
behind  the  front  door.  Another  breathing  space,  and 
then  the  war-cry  of  the  Puans  broke  hideously  on  the  night, 
and  children  woke,  crying,  from  their  sleep.  In  two 
bounds  our  little  detachment  was  in  the  street,  the  fire 
spouting  red  from  the  Deckards,  faint,  shadowy  forms 
fading  along  the  line  of  trees.  After  that  an  uproar  of 
awakening,  cries  here  and  there,  a  drum  beating  madly 
far  the  militia.  The  dozen  flung  themselves  across  the 
stream,  I  hot  in  their  wake,  through  Mr.  Brady's  gate, 
which  was  open  ;  and  there  was  a  scene  of  sweet  tranquillity 

201 


202  THE  CROSSING 

under  the  lantern's  rays,  —  the  North  Wind  and  his  friends 
wrapped  in  their  blankets  and  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
just. 

"  Damn  the  sly  varmints,"  cried  Tom,  and  he  turned 
over  the  North  Wind  with  his  foot,  as  a  log. 

With  a  grunt  of  fury  the  Indian  shed  his  blanket  and 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  stood  glaring  at  us  through  his 
paint.  But  suddenly  he  met  the  fixed  sternness  of 
Clark's  gaze,  and  his  own  shifted.  By  this  time  his 
followers  were  up.  The  North  Wind  raised  his  hands  to 
heaven  in  token  of  his  innocence,  and  then  spread  his 
palms  outward.  Where  was  the  proof  ? 

"  Look  !  "  I  cried,  quivering  with  excitement  ;  "  look, 
their  leggings  and  moccasins  are  wet  !  " 

"  There's  no  devil  if  they  beant  !  "  said  Tom,  and  there 
was  a  murmur  of  approval  from  the  other  men. 

"  The  boy  is  right,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  turned  to 
Tom.  "Sergeant,  have  the  chiefs  put  in  irons."  He 
swung  on  his  heel,  and  without  more  ado  went  back  to 
his  house  to  bed.  The  North  Wind  and  two  others  were 
easily  singled  out  as  the  leaders,  and  were  st  aightway 
escorted  to  the  garrison  house,  their  air  cf  injured 
innocence  availing  them  not  a  whit.  The  militia  was 
dismissed,  and  the  village  was  hushed  once  more. 

But  all  night  long  the  chiefs  went  to  and  fro,  taking 
counsel  among  themselves.  What  would  the  Chief  of  the 
Pale  Faces  do  ? 

The  morning  came  with  a  cloudy,  damp  dawning. 
Within  a  decent  time  (for  the  Indian  is  decorous)  blanketed 
deputations  filled  the  archways  under  the  trees  and  waited 
there  as  the  minutes  ran  into  hours.  The  Chief  of  the 
Long  Knives  surveyed  the  morning  from  his  door-step,  and 
his  eyes  rested  on  a  solemn  figure  at  the  gate.  It  was 
the  Hungry  Wolf.  Sorrow  was  in  his  voice,  and  he  bore 
messages  from  the  twenty  great  chiefs  who  stood  beyond. 
They  were  come  to  express  their  abhorrence  of  the  night's 
doings,  of  which  they  were  as  innocent  as  the  deer  of  the 
forest. 

"  Let  the  Hungry  Wolf   tell  the  chiefs,"  said  Colonel 


THE   SACRIFICE  203 

Clark,  briefly,  "that  the  council  is  the  place  for  talk." 
And  he  went  back  into  the  house  again. 

Then  he  bade  me  run  to  Captain  Bowman  with  an  order 
to  bring  the  North  Wind  and  his  confederates  to  the 
council  field  in  irons. 

The  day  followed  the  promise  of  the  dawn.  The 
clouds  hung  low,  and  now  and  again  great  drops  struck 
the  faces  of  the  people  in  the  field.  And  like  the  heavens, 
the  assembly  itself  was  charged  with  we  knew  not  what. 
Was  it  peace  or  war  ?  As  before,  a  white  man  sat  with 
supreme  indifference  at  a  table,  and  in  front  of  him  three 
most  unhappy  chiefs  squatted  in  the  grass,  the  shame  of 
their  irons  hidden  under  the  blanket  folds.  Audacity  is 
truly  a  part  of  the  equipment  of  genius.  To  have  rescued 
the  North  Wind  and  his  friends  would  have  been  child's 
play  ;  to  have  retired  from  the  council  with  threats  of 
war,  as  easy. 

And  yet  they  craved  pardon. 

One  chief  after  another  rose  with  dignity  in  the  ring  and 
came  to  the  table  to  plead.  An  argument  deserving 
mention  was  that  the  North  Wind  had  desired  to  test  the 
friendship  of  the  French  for  the  Big  Knives,  —  set  forth 
without  a  smile.  To  all  pleaders  Colonel  Clark  shook  his 
head.  He,  being  a  warrior,  cared  little  whether  such 
people  were  friends  or  foes.  He  held  them  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand.  And  at  length  they  came  no  more. 

The  very  clouds  seemed  to  hang  motionless  when  he 
rose  to  speak,  and  you  who  will  may  read  in  his  memoir 
what  he  said.  The  Hungry  Wolf  caught  the  spirit  of  it, 
and  was  eloquent  in  his  own  tongue,  and  no  word  of  it  was 
lost.  First  he  told  them  of  the  causes  of  war,  of  the 
thirteen  council  fires  with  the  English,  and  in  terms  that 
the  Indian  mind  might  grasp,  and  how  their  old  father, 
the  French  King,  had  joined  the  Big  Knives  in  this  righteous 
fight. 

"  Warriors,"  said  he,  "  here  is  a  bloody  belt  and  a  white 
one  ;  take  which  you  choose.  But  behave  like  men. 
Should  it  be  the  bloody  path,  you  may  leave  this  town  in 
safety  to  join  the  English,  and  we  shall  then  see  which  of 


204  THE  CROSSING 

us  can  stain  our  shirts  with  the  most  blood.  But,  should 
it  be  the  path  of  peace  as  brothers  of  the  Big  Knives  and 
of  their  friends  the  French,  and  then  you  go  to  your  homes 
and  listen  to  the  bad  birds,  you  will  then  no  longer  deserve 
to  be  called  men  and  warriors,  —  but  creatures  of  two 
tongues,  which  ought  to  be  destroyed.  Let  us  then  part 
this  evening  in  the  hope  that  the  Great  Spirit  will  bring 
us  together  again  with  the  sun  as  brothers." 

So  the  council  broke  up.  White  man  and  red  went 
trooping  into  town,  staring  curiously  at  the  guard  which 
was  leading  the  North  Wind  and  his  friends  to  another 
night  of  meditation.  What  their  fate  would  be  no  man 
knew.  Many  thought  the  tomahawk. 

That  night  the  citizens  of  the  little  village  of  Pain  Court, 
as  St.  Louis  was  called,  might  have  seen  the  sky  reddened 
in  the  eastward.  It  was  the  loom  of  many  fires  at  Cahokia, 
and  around  them  the  chiefs  of  the  forty  tribes  —  all  save 
the  three  in  durance  vile  —  were  gathered  in  solemn  talk. 
Would  they  take  the  bloody  belt  or  the  white  one  ?  No 
man  cared  so  little  as  the  Pale  Face  Chief.  When  their 
eyes  were  turned  from  the  fitful  blaze  of  the  logs,  the  gala 
light  of  many  candles  greeted  them.  And  above  the  sound 
of  their  own  speeches  rose  the  merrier  note  of  the  fiddle. 
The  garrison  windows  shone  like  lanterns,  and  behind  these 
Creole  and  backwoodsman  swung  the  village  ladies  in  the 
gay  French  dances.  The  man  at  whose  bidding  this 
merrymaking  was  held  stood  in  a  corner  watching  with 
folded  arms,  and  none  to  look  at  him  might  know  that 
he  was  playing  for  a  stake. 

The  troubled  fires  of  the  Indians  had  died  to  embers 
long  before  the  candles  were  snuffed  in  the  garrison  house 
and  the  music  ceased. 

The  sun  himself  was  pleased  to  hail  that  last  morning  of 
the  great  council,  and  beamed  with  torrid  tolerance  upon 
the  ceremony  of  kindling  the  greatest  of  the  fires.  On 
this  morning  Colonel  Clark  did  not  sit  alone,  but  was  sur 
rounded  by  men  of  weight,  —  by  Monsieur  Gratiot  and 
other  citizens,  Captain  Bowman  and  the  Spanish  officers. 
And  when  at  length  the  brush  crackled  and  the  flames 


THE   SACRIFICE  205 

caught  the  logs,  three  of  the  mightiest  chiefs  arose.  The 
greatest,  victor  in  fifty  tribal  wars,  held  in  his  hand  the 
white  belt  of  peace.  The  second  bore  a  long-stemmed 
pipe  with  a  huge  bowl.  And  after  him,  with  measured 
steps,  a  third  came  with  a  smoking  censer,  —  the  sacred 
fire  with  which  to  kindle  the  pipe.  Halting  before  Clark, 
he  first  swung  the  censer  to  the  heavens,  then  to  the  earth, 
then  to  all  the  spirits  of  the  air,  —  calling  these  to  witness 
that  peace  was  come  at  last,  —  and  finally  to  the  Chief  of 
the  Long  Knives  and  to  the  gentlemen  of  dignity  about 
his  person.  Next  the  Indian  turned,  and  spoke  to  his 
brethren  in  measured,  sonorous  tones.  He  bade  them 
thank  that  Great  Spirit  who  had  cleared  the  sky  and 
opened  their  ears  and  hearts  that  they  might  receive  the 
truth, —  who  had  laid  bare  to  their  understanding  the  lies 
of  the  English.  Even  as  these  English  had  served  the  Big 
Knives,  so  might  they  one  day  serve  the  Indians.  There 
fore  he  commanded  them  to  cast  the  tomahawk  into  the 
river,  and  when  they  should  return  to  their  land  to  drive 
the  evil  birds  from  it.  And  they  must  send  their  wise  men 
to  Kaskaskia  to  hear  the  words  of  wisdom  of  the  Great 
White  Chief,  Clark.  He  thanked  the  Great  Spirit  for 
this  council  fire  which  He  had  kindled  at  Cahokia. 

Lifting  the  bowl  of  the  censer,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the 
people  he  drew  in  a  long  whiff  to  bear  witness  of  peace. 
After  him  the  pipe  went  the  interminable  rounds  of  the 
chiefs.  Colonel  Clark  took  it,  and  puffed;  Captain  Bowman 
puffed,  —  everybody  puffed. 

"  Davy  must  have  a  pull,"  cried  Tom ;  and  even  the 
chiefs  smiled  as  I  coughed  and  sputtered,  while  my  friends 
roared  with  laughter.  It  gave  me  no  great  notion  of  the 
fragrance  of  tobacco.  And  then  came  such  a  hand-shak 
ing  and  grunting  as  a  man  rarely  sees  in  a  lifetime. 

There  was  but  one  disquieting  question  left  :  What  was 
to  become  of  the  North  Wind  and  his  friends  ?  None 
dared  mention  the  matter  at  such  a  time.  But  at  length, 
as  the  day  wore  on  to  afternoon,  the  Colonel  was  seen  to 
speak  quietly  to  Captain  Bowman,  and  several  backwoods 
men  went  off  toward  the  town.  And  presently  a  silence 


206  THE  CROSSING 

fell  on  the  company  as  they  beheld  the  dejected  three 
crossing  the  field  with  a  guard.  They  were  led  before 
Clark,  and  when  he  saw  them  his  face  hardened  to  sternness. 

"  It  is  only  women  who  watch  to  catch  a  bear  sleeping," 
he  said.  "  The  Big  Knives  do  not  kill  women.  I  shall  give 
you  meat  for  your  journey  home,  for  women  cannot  hunt. 
If  you  remain  here,  you  shall  be  treated  as  squaws.  Set 
the  women  free." 

Tom  McChesney  cast  off  their  irons.  As  for  Clark,  he 
began  to  talk  immediately  with  Monsieur  Gratiot,  as 
though  he  had  dismissed  them  from  his  mind.  And  their 
agitation  was  a  pitiful  thing  to  see.  In  vain  they  pressed 
about  him,  in  vain  they  even  pulled  the  fringe  of  his  shirt 
to  gain  his  attention.  And  then  they  went  about  among 
the  other  chiefs,  but  these  dared  not  intercede.  Uneasi 
ness  was  written  on  every  man's  face,  and  the  talk  went 
haltingly.  But  Clark  was  serenity  itself.  At  length  with 
a  supreme  effort  they  plucked  up  courage  to  come  again  to 
the  table,  one  holding  out  the  belt  of  peace,  and  the  other 
the  still  smouldering  pipe. 

Clark  paused  in  his  talk.  He  took  the  belt,  and  flung 
it  away  over  the  heads  of  those  around  him.  He  seized 
the  pipe,  and  taking  up  his  sword  from  the  table  drew  it, 
and  with  one  blow  clave  the  stem  in  half.  There  was  no 
anger  in  either  act,  but  much  deliberation. 

"  The  Big  Knives,"  he  said  scornfully,  "  do  not  treat 
with  women." 

The  pleading  began  again,  the  Hungry  Wolf  interpret 
ing  with  tremors  of  earnestness.  Their  lives  were  spared, 
but  to  what  purpose,  since  the  White  Chief  looked  with 
disfavor  upon  them  ?  Let  him  know  that  bad  men  from 
Michilimackinac  put  the  deed  into  their  hearts. 

"  When  the  Big  Knives  come  upon  such  people  in  the 
wilderness,"  Clark  answered,  "  they  shoot  them  down  that 
they  may  not  eat  the  deer.  But  they  have  never  talked 
of  it." 

He  turned  from  them  once  more;  they  went  away  in  a 
dejection  to  wring  our  compassion,  and  we  thought  the 
matter  ended  at  last.  The  sun  was  falling  low,  the  people 


THE   SACEIFICE  207 

beginning  to  move  away,  when,  to  the  astonishment  of  all, 
the  culprits  were  seen  coming  back  again.  With  them 
were  two  young  men  of  their  own  nation.  The  Indians 
opened  up  a  path  for  them  to  pass  through,  and  they  came 
as  men  go  to  the  grave.  So  mournful,  so  impressive  withal, 
that  the  crowd  fell  into  silence  again,  and  the  Colonel 
turned  his  eyes.  The  two  young  men  sank  down  on  the 
ground  before  him  and  shrouded  their  heads  in  their 
blankets. 

"  What  is  this?"    Clark  demanded. 

The  North  Wind  spoke  in  a  voice  of  sorrow :  — 

"  An  atonement  to  the  Great  White  Chief  for  the  sins 
of  our  nation.  Perchance  the  Great  Chief  will  deign  to 
strike  a  tomahawk  into  their  heads,  that  our  nation  may 
be  saved  in  war  by  the  Big  Knives."  And  the  North 
Wind  held  forth  the  pipe  once  more. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  said  Clark. 

Still  they  stood  irresolute,  their  minds  now  bereft  of 
expedients.  And  the  young  men  sat  motionless  on  the 
ground.  As  Clark  talked  they  peered  out  from  under 
their  blankets,  once,  twice,  thrice.  He  was  still  talking 
to  the  wondering  Monsieur  Gratiot.  But  no  other  voice 
was  heard,  and  the  eyes  of  all  were  turned  on  him  in  amaze 
ment.  But  at  last,  when  the  drama  had  risen  to  the  pitch 
of  unbearable  suspense,  he  looked  down  upon  the  two 
miserable  pyramids  at  his  feet,  and  touched  them.  The 
blankets  quivered. 

"  Stand  up,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and  uncover." 

They  rose,  cast  the  blankets  from  them,  and  stood  with 
a  stoic  dignity  awaiting  his  pleasure.  Wonderful,  fine- 
limbed  men  they  were,  and  for  the  first  time  Clark's  eyes 
were  seen  to  kindle. 

"  I  thank  the  Great  Spirit,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  that  I  have  found  men  among  your  nation.  That  I  have 
at  last  discovered  the  real  chiefs  of  your  people.  Had  they 
sent  such  as  you  to  treat  with  me  in  the  beginning  all 
might  have  been  well.  Go  back  to  your  people  as  their 
chiefs,  and  tell  them  that  through  you  the  Big  Knives 
have  granted  peace  to  your  nation." 


THE  CROSSING 

Stepping  forward,  he  grasped  them  each  by  the  hand, 
and,  despite  training,  joy  shone  in  their  faces,  while  a 
long-drawn  murmur  arose  from  the  assemblage.  But 
Clark  did  not  stop  there.  He  presented  them  to  Captain 
Bowman  and  to  the  French  and  Spanish  gentlemen  present, 
and  they  were  hailed  by  their  own  kind  as  chiefs  of  their 
nation.  To  cap  it  all  our  troops,  backwoodsmen  and 
Creole  militia,  paraded  in  line  on  the  common,  and  fired  a 
salute  in  their  honor. 

Thus  did  Clark  gain  the  friendship  of  the  forty  tribes 
in  the  Northwest  country. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"AN'   YE  HAD   BEEN   WHERE  I  HAD   BEEN" 

WE  went  back  to  Kaskaskia,  Colonel  Clark,  Tom, 
and  myself,  and  a  great  weight  was  lifted  from  our 
hearts. 

A  peaceful  autumn  passed,  and  we  were  happy  save 
when  we  thought  of  those  we  had  left  at  home.  There  is 
no  space  here  to  tell  of  many  incidents.  Great  chiefs 
who  had  not  been  to  the  council  came  hundreds  of  leagues 
across  wide  rivers  that  they  might  see  with  their  own  eyes 
this  man  who  had  made  peace  without  gold,  and  these  had 
to  be  amused  and  entertained. 

The  apples  ripened,  and  were  shaken  to  the  ground  by 
the  winds.  The  good  Father  Gibault,  true  to  his  promise, 
strove  to  teach  me  French.  Indeed,  I  picked  up  much  of 
that  language  in  my  intercourse  with  the  inhabitants  of 
Kaskaskia.  How  well  I  recall  that  simple  life,  —  its 
dances,  its  songs,  and  the  games  with  the  laughing  boys 
and  girls  on  the  common  !  And  the  good  people  were 
very  kind  to  the  orphan  that  dwelt  with  Colonel  Clark, 
the  drummer  boy  of  his  regiment. 

But  winter  brought  forebodings.  When  the  garden 
patches  grew  bare  and  brown,  and  the  bleak  winds  from 
across  the  Mississippi  swept  over  the  common,  untoward 
tidings  came  like  water  dripping  from  a  roof,  bit  by  bit. 
And  day  by  day  Colonel  Clark  looked  graver.  The  mes 
sengers  he  had  sent  to  Vincennes  came  not  back,  and  the 
coureurs  and  traders  from  time  to  time  brought  rumors 
of  a  British  force  gathering  like  a  thundercloud  in  the 
northeast.  Monsieur  Vigo  himself,  who  had  gone  to 
Vincennes  on  his  own  business,  did  not  return.  As  for 
r  209 


210  THE  CROSSING 

the  inhabitants,  some  of  them  who  had  once  bowed  to  us 
with  a  smile  now  passed  with  faces  averted. 

The  cold  set  the  miry  roads  like  cement,  in  ruts  and 
ridges.  A  flurry  of  snow  came  and  powdered  the  roofs 
even  as  the  French  loaves  are  powdered. 

It  was  January.  There  was  Colonel  Clark  on  a  runt 
of  an  Indian  pony;  Tom  McChesney  on  another,  riding 
ahead,  several  French  gentlemen  seated  on  stools  in  a  two- 
wheeled  cart,  and  myself.  We  were  going  to  Cahokia, 
and  it  was  very  cold,  and  when  the  tireless  wheels  bumped 
from  ridge  to  gully,  the  gentlemen  grabbed  each  other  as 
they  slid  about,  and  laughed. 

All  at  once  the  merriment  ceased,  and  looking  forward 
we  saw  that  Tom  had  leaped  from  his  saddle  and  was 
bending  over  something  in  the  snow.  These  chanced  to 
be  the  footprints  of  some  twenty  men. 

The  immediate  result  of  this  alarming  discovery  was 
that  Tom  went  on  express  to  warn  Captain  Bowman,  and 
the  rest  of  us  returned  to  a  painful  scene  at  Kaskaskia. 
We  reached  the  village,  the  French  gentlemen  leaped 
down  from  their  stools  in  the  cart,  and  in  ten  minutes  the 
streets  were  filled  with  frenzied,  hooded  figures.  Hamil 
ton,  called  the  Hair  Buyer,  was  upon  them  with  no  less 
than  six  hundred,  and  he  would  hang  them  to  their  own 
gateposts  for  listening  to  the  Long  Knives.  These  were  but 
a  handful  after  all  was  said.  There  was  Father  Gibault, 
for  example.  Father  Gibault  would  doubtless  be  exposed 
to  the  crows  in  the  belfry  of  his  own  church  because  he 
had  busied  himself  at  Vincennes  and  with  other  matters. 
Father  Gibault  was  human,  and  therefore  lovable.  He 
bade  his  parishioners  a  hasty  and  tearful  farewell,  and  he 
made  a  cold  and  painful  journey  to  the  territories  of  his 
Spanish  Majesty  across  the  Mississippi. 

Father  Gibault  looked  back,  and  against  the  gray  of  the 
winter's  twilight  there  were  flames  like  red  maple  leaves. 
In  the  fort  the  men  stood  to  their  guns,  their  faces  flushed 
with  staring  at  the  burning  houses.  Only  a  few  were 
burned,  —  enough  to  give  no  cover  for  Hamilton  and  his 
six  hundred  if  they  came. 


But  they  did  not  come.  The  faithful  Bowman  and  his 
men  arrived  instead,  with  the  news  that  there  had  been 
only  a  roving  party  of  forty,  and  these  were  now  in  full 
retreat. 

Father  Gibault  came  back.  But  where  was  Hamilton  ? 
This  was  the  disquieting  thing. 

One  bitter  day,  when  the  sun  smiled  mockingly  on  the 
powdered  common,  a  horseman  was  perceived  on  the  Fort 
Chartres  road.  It  was  Monsieur  Vigo  returning  from 
Vincennes,  but  he  had  been  first  to  St.  Louis  by  reason  of 
the  value  he  set  upon  his  head.  Yes,  Monsieur  Vigo  had 
been  to  Vincennes,  remaining  a  little  longer  than  he 
expected,  the  guest  of  Governor  Hamilton.  So  Governor 
Hamilton  had  recaptured  that  place  I  Monsieur  Vigo 
was  no  spy,  hence  he  had  gone  first  to  St.  Louis.  Gov 
ernor  Hamilton  was  at  Vincennes  with  much  of  King 
George's  gold,  and  many  supplies,  and  certain  Indians 
who  had  not  been  at  the  council.  Eight  hundred  in  all, 
said  Monsieur  Vigo,  using  his  fingers.  And  it  was  Gov 
ernor  Hamilton's  design  to  march  upon  Kaskaskia  and 
Cahokia  and  sweep  over  Kentucky  ;  nay,  he  had  already 
sent  certain  emissaries  to  McGillivray  and  his  Creeks  and 
the  Southern  Indians  with  presents,  and  these  were  to  press 
forward  on  their  side.  The  Governor  could  do  nothing 
now,  but  would  move  as  soon  as  the  rigors  of  winter  had 
somewhat  relented.  Monsieur  Vigo  shook  his  head  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  loved  les  Am^ricains.  What 
would  Monsieur  le  Colonel  do  now  ? 

Monsieur  le  Colonel  was  grave,  but  this  was  his  usual 
manner.  He  did  not  tear  his  hair,  but  the  ways  of  the 
Long  Knives  were  past  understanding.  He  asked  many 
questions.  How  was  it  with  the  garrison  at  Vincennes  ? 
Monsieur  Vigo  was  exact,  as  a  business  man  should  be. 
They  were  now  reduced  to  eighty  men,  and  five  hundred 
savages  had  gone  out  to  ravage.  There  was  no  chance, 
then,  of  Hamilton  moving  at  present  ?  Monsieur  Vigo 
threw  up  his  hands.  Never  had  he  made  such  a  trip,  and 
he  had  been  forced  to  come  back  by  a  northern  route. 
The  Wabash  was  as  the  Great  Lakes,  and  the  forests  grew 


212  THE  CBOSSING 

out  of  the  water.  A  fox  could  not  go  to  Vincennes  in  this 
weather.  A  fish  ?  Monsieur  Vigo  laughed  heartily.  Yes, 
a  fish  might. 

"Then,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  "  we  will  be  fish." 

Monsieur  Vigo  stared,  and  passed  his  hand  from  his 
forehead  backwards  over  his  long  hair.  I  leaned  forward 
in  my  corner  by  the  hickory  fire. 

"  Then  we  will  be  fish,"  said  Colonel  Clark.  "  Better 
that  than  food  for  the  crows.  For,  if  we  stay  here,  we 
shall  be  caught  like  bears  in  a  trap,  and  Kentucky  will  be 
at  Hamilton's  mercy." 

"Sacrt!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Vigo,  "you  are  mad, 
mon  ami.  I  know  what  this  country  is,  and  you  cannot 
get  to  Vincennes." 

"  I  will  get  to  Vincennes,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  so  gently 
that  Monsieur  Vigo  knew  he  meant  it.  "  I  will  swim  to 
Vincennes." 

Monsieur  Vigo  raised  his  hands  to  heaven.  The  three 
of  us  went  out  of  the  door  and  walked.  There  was  a 
snowy  place  in  front  of  the  church  all  party-colored  like 
a  clown's  coat,  —  scarlet  capotes,  yellow  capotes,  and  blue 
capotes,  and  bright  silk  handkerchiefs.  They  surrounded 
the  Colonel.  Pardieu,  what  was  he  to  do  now  ?  For  the 
British  governor  and  his  savages  were  coming  to  take  re 
venge  on  them  because,  in  their  necessity,  they  had  declared 
for  Congress.  Colonel  Clark  went  silently  on  his  way  to 
the  gate ;  but  Monsieur  Vigo  stopped,  and  Kaskaskia  heard, 
with  a  shock,  that  this  man  of  iron  was  to  march  against 
Vincennes. 

The  gates  of  the  fort  were  shut,  and  the  captains  sum 
moned.  Undaunted  woodsmen  as  they  were,  they  were 
lukewarm,  at  first,  at  the  idea  of  this  march  through  the 
floods.  Who  can  blame  them  ?  They  had,  indeed,  sacri 
ficed  much.  But  in  ten  minutes  they  had  caught  his  en 
thusiasm  (which  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  genius).  And 
the  men  paraded  in  the  snow  likewise  caught  it,  and  swung 
their  hats  at  the  notion  of  taking  the  Hair  Buyer. 

"  'Tis  no  news  to  me,"  said  Terence,  stamping  his  feet 
on  the  flinty  ground ;  "  wasn't  it  Davy  that  pointed  him 


«AN'   YE  HAD  BEEN  WHERE  I  HAD  BEEN"    213 

out  to  us  and  the  hair  liftin'  from  his  head  six  months 
since  ?  " 

"  Und  you  like  schwimmin',  yes  ?  "  said  Swein  Poulsson, 
his  face  like  the  rising  sun  with  the  cold. 

"  Swimmin',  is  it  ?  "  said  Terence;  "  sure,  the  divil  made 
worse  things  than  wather.  And  Hamilton's  beyant." 

"  I  reckon  that  '11  fetch  us  through,"  Bill  Cowan  put  in 
grimly. 

It  was  a  blessed  thing  that  none  of  us  had  a  bird's-eye 
view  of  that  same  water.  No  man  of  force  will  listen  when 
his  mind  is  made  up,  and  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  For 
in  that  way  things  are  accomplished.  Clark  would  not 
listen  to  Monsieur  Vigo,  and  hence  the  financier  had,  per 
force,  to  listen  to  Clark.  There  were  several  miracles 
before  we  left.  Monsieur  Vigo,  for  instance,  agreed  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  the  expedition,  though  in  his  heart  he 
thought  we  should  never  get  to  Vincennes.  Incidentally, 
be  was  never  repaid.  Then  there  were  the  French  —  yes 
terday,  running  hither  and  thither  in  paroxysms  of  fear ; 
to-day,  enlisting  in  whole  companies,  though  it  were  easier 
to  get  to  the  wild  geese  of  the  swamps  than  to  Hamilton. 
Their  ladies  stitched  colors  day  and  night,  and  presented 
them  with  simple  confidence  to  the  Colonel  in  the  church. 
Twenty  stands  of  colors  for  170  men,  counting  those  who 
had  come  from  Cahokia.  Think  of  the  industry  of  it,  of 
the  enthusiasm  behind  it  !  Twenty  stands  of  colors  ! 
Clark  took  them  all,  and  in  due  time  it  will  be  told  how 
the  colors  took  Vincennes.  This  was  because  Colonel 
Clark  was  a  man  of  destiny. 

Furthermore,  Colonel  Clark  was  off  the  next  morning 
at  dawn  to  buy  a  Mississippi  keel-boat.  He  had  her  rigged 
up  with  two  four-pounders  and  four  swivels,  filled  her 
with  provisions,  and  called  her  the  Willing.  She  was  the 
first  gunboat  on  the  Western  waters.  A  great  fear  came 
into  my  heart,  and  at  dusk  I  stole  back  to  the  Colonel's 
house  alone.  The  snow  had  turned  to  rain,  and  Terence 
stood  guard  within  the  doorway. 

"  Arrah,"  he  said,  "  what  ails  ye,  darlin'  ?  " 

I  gulped  and  the  tears  sprang  into  my  eyes ;  whereupon 


214  THE  CROSSING 

Terence,  in  defiance  of  all  military  laws,  laid  his  gun 
against  the  doorpost  and  put  his  arms  around  me,  and  I 
confided  my  fears.  It  was  at  this  critical  juncture  that 
the  door  opened  and  Colonel  Clark  came  out. 

"  What's  to  do  here  ? "  he  demanded,  gazing  at  us 
sternly. 

"Savin'  your  Honor's  prisence,"  said  Terence,  "he's 
afeard  your  Honor  will  be  sending  him  on  the  boat.  Sure, 
he  wants  to  go  swimmin'  with  the  rest  of  us." 

Colonel  Clark  frowned,  bit  his  lip,  and  Terence  seized 
his  gun  and  stood  to  attention. 

"It  were  right  to  leave  yen  in  Kaskaskia,"  said  the 
Colonel;  "  the  water  will  be  over  your  head." 

"  The  King's  drum  would  be  floatin'  the  likes  of  him," 
said  the  irrepressible  Terence,  "and  the  b'ys  would  be 
that  lonesome." 

The  Colonel  walked  away  without  a  word.  In  an  hour's 
time  he  came  back  to  find  me  cleaning  his  accoutrements 
by  the  fire.  For  a  while  he  did  not  speak,  but  busied  him 
self  with  his  papers,  I  having  lighted  the  candles  for  him. 
Presently  he  spoke  my  name,  and  I  stood  before  him. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  Davy,"  said  he.  "  If 
you  want  a  thing,  go  straight  to  the  man  that  has  it. 
McChesney  has  spoken  to  me  about  this  wild  notion  of 
yours  of  going  to  Vincennes,  and  Cowan  and  McCann  and 
Ray  and  a  dozen  others  have  dogged  my  footsteps." 

"  I  only  spoke  to  Terence  because  he  asked  me,  sir,"  I 
answered.  "  I  said  nothing  to  any  one  else." 

He  laid  down  his  pen  and  looked  at  me  with  an  odd 
expression. 

"  What  a  weird  little  piece  you  are,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  you 
seem  to  have  wormed  your  way  into  the  hearts  of  these 
men.  Do  you  know  that  you  will  probably  never  get  to 
Vincennes  alive  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care,  sir,"  I  said.  A  happy  thought  struck 
me.  "  If  they  see  a  boy  going  through  the  water,  sir  —  " 
I  hesitated,  abashed. 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  Clark,  shortly. 

"  It  may  keep  some  from  going  back,"  I  finished. 


«AN'   YE  HAD   BEEN  WHERE   I  HAD  BEEN"    215 

At  that  he  gave  a  sort  of  gasp,  and  stared  at  me  the 
more. 

"  Egad,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  the  good  Lord  launched 
you  wrong  end  to.  Perchance  you  will  be  a  child  when 
you  are  fifty." 

He  was  silent  a  long  time,  and  fell  to  musing.  And  I 
thought  he  had  forgotten. 

"  May  I  go,  sir  ?  "  I  asked  at  length. 

He  started. 

"  Come  here,"  said  he.  But  when  I  was  close  to  him 
he  merely  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "  Yes,  you  may 
go,  Davy." 

He  sighed,  and  presently  turned  to  his  writing  again, 
and  I  went  back  joyfully  to  my  cleaning. 

On  a  certain  dark  4th  of  February,  picture  the  vil 
lage  of  Kaskaskia  assembled  on  the  river-bank  in  capote 
and  hood.  Ropes  are  cast  off,  the  keel-boat  pushes  her 
blunt  nose  through  the  cold,  muddy  water,  the  oars  churn 
up  dirty,  yellow  foam,  and  cheers  shake  the  sodden  air. 
So  the  Willing  left  on  her  long  journey  :  down  the 
Kaskaskia,  into  the  flood  of  the  Mississippi,  against  many 
weary  leagues  of  the  Ohio's  current,  and  up  the  swollen 
Wabash  until  they  were  to  come  to  the  mouth  of  the 
White  River  near  Vincennes.  There  they  were  to  await  us. 

Should  we  ever  see  them  again  ?  I  think  that  this  was 
the  unspoken  question  in  the  hearts  of  the  many  who  were 
to  go  by  land. 

The  5th  was  a  mild,  gray  day,  with  the  melting  snow 
lying  in  patches  on  the  brown  bluff,  and  the  sun  making 
shift  to  pierce  here  and  there.  We  formed  the  regiment 
in  the  fort,  —  backwoodsman  and  Creole  now  to  fight  for 
their  common  country,  Jacques  and  Pierre  and  Alphonse; 
and  mother  and  father,  sweetheart  and  wife,  waiting  to 
wave  a  last  good-by.  Bravely  we  marched  out  of  the 
gate  and  into  the  church  for  Father  Gibault's  blessing. 
And  then,  forming  once  more,  we  filed  away  on  the  road 
leading  northward  to  the  ferry,  our  colors  flying,  leaving 
the  weeping,  cheering  crowd  behind.  In  front  of  the  tall 
men  of  the  column  was  a  wizened  figure,  beating  madly  on 


216  THE  CEOSSING 

a  drum,  stepping  proudly  with  head  thrown  back.  It  was 
Cowan's  voice  that  snapped  the  strain. 

"  Go  it,  Davy,  my  little  gamecock  !  "  he  cried,  and  the 
men  laughed  and  cheered.  And  so  we  came  to  the  bleak 
ferry  landing  where  we  had  crossed  on  that  hot  July 
night  six  months  before. 

We  were  soon  on  the  prairies,  and  in  the  misty  rain  that 
fell  and  fell  they  seemed  to  melt  afar  into  a  gray  and  cheer 
less  ocean.  The  sodden  grass  was  matted  now  and  unkempt. 
Lifeless  lakes  filled  the  depressions,  and  through  them  we 
waded  mile  after  mile  ankle-deep.  There  was  a  little 
cavalcade  mounted  on  the  tiny  French  ponies,  and  some 
times  I  rode  with  these;  but  oftenest  Cowan  or  Tom  would 
fling  me,  drum  and  all,  on  his  shoulder.  For  we  had 
reached  the  forest  swamps  where  the  water  is  the  color  of 
the  Creole  coffee.  And  day  after  day  as  we  marched,  the 
soft  rain  came  out  of  the  east  and  wet  us  to  the  skin. 

It  was  a  journey  of  torments,  and  even  that  first  part  of 
it  was  enough  to  discourage  the  most  resolute  spirit. 
Men  might  be  led  through  it,  but  never  driven.  It  is 
ever  the  mind  which  suffers  through  the  monotonies  of 
bodily  discomfort,  and  none  knew  this  better  than  Clark 
himself.  Every  morning  as  we  set  out  with  the  wet  hide 
chafing  our  skin,  the  Colonel  would  run  the  length  of  the 
regiment,  crying  :  — 

"  Who  gives  the  feast  to-night,  boys  ?  " 

Now  it  was  Bowman's  company,  now  McCarty's,  now 
Bayley's.  How  the  hunters  vied  with  each  other  to  supply 
the  best,  and  spent  the  days  stalking  the  deer  cowering 
in  the  wet  thickets.  We  crossed  the  Saline,  and  on  the 
plains  beyond  was  a  great  black  patch,  a  herd  of  buffalo. 
A  party  of  chosen  men  headed  by  Tom  McChesney  was 
sent  after  them,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  sight  of  the 
mad  beasts  charging  through  the  water. 

That  night,  when  our  chilled  feet  could  bear  no  more, 
we  sought  out  a  patch  of  raised  ground  a  little  firmer  than 
a  quagmire,  and  heaped  up  the  beginnings  of  a  fire  with 
such  brush  as  could  be  made  to  burn,  robbing  the  naked 
thickets.  Saddle  and  steak  sizzled,  leather  steamed  and 


"AN'   YE   HAD  BEEN  WHEEE  I  HAD  BEEN"    217 

stiffened,  hearts  and  bodies  thawed  ;  grievances  that  men 
had  nursed  over  miles  of  water  melted.  Courage  sits 
best  on  a  full  stomach,  and  as  they  ate  they  cared  not 
whether  the  Atlantic  had  opened  between  them  and 
Vincennes.  An  hour  agone,  and  there  were  twenty  curs 
ing  laggards,  counting  the  leagues  back  to  Kaskaskia. 
Now :  — 

"  C'etait  un  vieux  sauvage 

Tout  noir,  tout  barbouilla, 
Ouich'  ka! 

A  vec  sa  vieill'  couverte 

Et  son  sac  a  tabac. 
Ouich'  ka ! 

AJi!  ah  I  tenaouich1  tenaga, 

Tenaouich'  lenaya,  ouich'  ka  !  " 

So  sang  Antoine,  dit  le  6rm,  in  the  pulsing  red  light. 
And  when,  between  the  verses,  he  went  through  the 
agonies  of  a  Huron  war-dance,  the  assembled  regiment 
howled  with  delight.  Some  men  know  cities  and  those 
who  dwell  in  the  quarters  of  cities.  But  grizzled  Antoine 
knew  the  half  of  a  continent,  and  the  manners  of  trading 
and  killing  of  the  tribes  thereof. 

And  after  Antoine  came  Gabriel,  a  marked  contrast  — - 
Gabriel,  five  feet  six,  and  the  glare  showing  but  a  faint 
dark  line  on  his  quivering  lip.  Gabriel  was  a  patriot,  — 
a  tribute  we  must  pay  to  all  of  those  brave  Frenchmen 
who  went  with  us.  Nay,  Gabriel  had  left  at  home  on  his 
little  farm  near  the  village  a  young  wife  of  a  fortnight. 
And  so  his  lip  quivered  as  he  sang  :  — 

"  Petit  Rocher  de  la  Haute  Montagne, 
Je  viensjinir  id  cette  campagne  ! 
Ah  !  doux  echos,  entendez  mes  soupirs / 
En  languissant  je  vais  bientot  mourir  I " 

We  had  need  of  gayety  after  that,  and  so  Bill  Cowan 
sang  "  Billy  of  the  Wild  Wood,"  and  Terence  McCann 
wailed  an  Irish  jig,  stamping  the  water  out  of  the  spongy 
ground  amidst  storms  of  mirth.  As  he  desisted,  breath 
less  and  panting,  he  flung  me  up  in  the  firelight  before 
the  eyes  of  them  all,  crying  :  — 


218  THE  CROSSING 

"  It's  Davy  can  bate  me  !  " 

"  Ay,  Davy,  Davy  !  "  they  shouted,  for  they  were  in 
the  mood  for  anything.  There  stood  Colonel  Clark  in 
the  dimmer  light  of  the  background.  "  We  must  keep 
'em  screwed  up,  Davy,"  he  had  said  that  very  day. 

There  came  to  me  on  the  instant  a  wild  song  that  my 
father  had  taught  me  when  the  liquor  held  him  in  domi 
nance.  Exhilarated,  I  sprang  from  Terence's  arms  to  the 
sodden,  bared  space,  and  methinks  I  yet  hear  my  shrill, 
piping  note,  and  see  my  legs  kicking  in  the  fling  of  it. 
There  was  an  uproar,  a  deeper  voice  chimed  in,  and  here 
was  McAndrew  flinging  his  legs  with  mine  :  — 

"  I've  faught  on  land,  I've  faught  at  sea, 

At  hame  I  faught  my  aunty,  O ; 
But  I  met  the  deevil  and  Dundee 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 
An'  ye  had  been  where  I  had  been, 

Ye  wad  na  be  sae  cantie,  O ; 
An'  ye  had  seen  what  I  ha'e  seen 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O." 

In  the  morning  Clark  himself  would  be  the  first  off 
through  the  gray  rain,  laughing  and  shouting  and  waving 
his  sword  in  the  air,  and  I  after  him  as  hard  as  I  could 
pelt  through  the  mud,  beating  the  charge  on  my  drum 
until  the  war-cries  of  the  regiment  drowned  the  sound  of 
it.  For  we  were  upon  a  pleasure  trip  —  lest  any  man  for 
get, —  a  pleasure  trip  amidst  stark  woods  and  brown  plains 
flecked  with  ponds.  So  we  followed  him  until  we  came 
to  a  place  where,  in  summer,  two  quiet  rivers  flowed 
through  green  forests — the  little  Wabashes.  And  now  ! 
Now  hickory  and  maple,  oak  and  cottonwood,  stood  shiver 
ing  in  three  feet  of  water  on  what  had  been  a  league  of 
dry  land.  We  stood  dismayed  at  the  crumbling  edge  of 
the  hill,  and  one  hundred  and  seventy  pairs  of  eyes  were 
turned  on  Clark.  With  a  mere  glance  at  the  running 
stream  high  on  the  bank  and  the  drowned  forest  beyond, 
he  turned  and  faced  them. 

"  I  reckon  you've  earned  a  rest,  boys,"  he  said.  "  We'll 
have  games  to-day." 


«AN'  YE  HAD  BEEN  WHERE  I  HAD  BEEN"    219 

There  were  some  dozen  of  the  unflinching  who  needed 
not  to  be  amused.  Choosing  a  great  poplar,  these  he  set 
to  hollowing  out  a  pirogue,  and  himself  came  among  the 
others  and  played  leap-frog  and  the  Indian  game  of  ball 
until  night  fell.  And  these,  instead  of  moping  and  quarrel 
ling,  forgot.  That  night,  as  I  cooked  him  a  buffalo  steak, 
he  drew  near  the  fire  with  Bowman. 

"  For  the  love  of  God  keep  up  their  spirits,  Bowman," 
said  the  Colonel ;  "  keep  up  their  spirits  until  we  get  them 
across.  Once  on  the  farther  hills,  they  cannot  go  back." 

Here  was  a  different  being  from  the  shouting  boy  who 
had  led  the  games  and  the  war-dance  that  night  in  the 
circle  of  the  blaze.  Tired  out,  we  went  to  sleep  with  the 
ring  of  the  axes  in  our  ears,  and  in  the  morning  there 
were  more  games  while  the  squad  crossed  the  river  to  the 
drowned  neck,  built  a  rough  scaffold  there,  and  notched  a 
trail  across  it  ;  to  the  scaffold  the  baggage  was  ferried, 
and  the  next  morning,  bit  by  bit,  the  regiment.  Even 
now  the  pains  shoot  through  my  body  when  I  think  of 
how  man  after  man  plunged  waist-deep  into  the  icy  water 
toward  the  farther  branch.  The  pirogue  was  filled  with 
the  weak,  and  in  the  end  of  it  I  was  curled  up  with  my 
drum. 

Heroism  is  a  many-sided  thing.  It  is  one  matter  to 
fight  and  finish,  another  to  endure  hell's  tortures  hour 
after  hour.  All  day  they  waded  with  numbed  feet  vainly 
searching  for  a  footing  in  the  slime.  Truly,  the  agony  of 
a  bi^ve  man  is  among  the  greatest  of  the  world's  trage 
dies  to  see.  As  they  splashed  onward  through  the  tree- 
trunks,  many  a  joke  went  forth,  though  lips  were  drawn 
and  teeth  pounded  together.  I  have  not  the  heart  to  re 
call  these  jokes, — it  would  seem  a  sacrilege.  There  were 
quarrels,  too,  the  men  striving  to  push  one  another  from 
the  easier  paths  ;  and  deeds  sublime  when  some  straggler 
clutched  at  the  bole  of  a  tree  for  support,  and  was  helped 
onward  through  excruciating  ways.  A  dozen  held  trem 
blingly  to  the  pirogue's  gunwale,  lest  they  fall  and  drown. 
One  walked  ahead  with  a  smile,  or  else  fell  back  to  lend 
a  helping  shoulder  to  a  fainting  man. 


220  THE  CROSSING 

And  there  was  Tom  McChesney.  All  day  long  I 
watched  him,  and  thanked  God  that  Polly  Ann  could  not 
see  him  thus.  And  yet,  how  the  pride  would  have  leaped 
within  her  !  Humor  came  not  easily  to  him,  but  charity 
and  courage  and  unselfishness  he  had  in  abundance. 
What  he  suffered  none  knew  ;  but  through  those  awful 
hours  he  was  always  among  the  stragglers,  helping  the 
weak  and  despairing  when  his  strength  might  have  taken 
him  far  ahead  toward  comfort  and  safety.  "  I'm  all  right, 
Davy,"  he  would  say,  in  answer  to  my  look  as  he  passed 
me.  But  on  his  face  was  written  something  that  I  did 
not  understand. 

How  the  Creole  farmers  and  traders,  unused  even  to  the 
common  ways  of  woodcraft,  endured  that  fearful  day  and 
others  that  followed,  I  know  not.  And  when  a  tardy  jus 
tice  shall  arise  and  compel  the  people  of  this  laud  to  raise 
a  shaft  in  memory  of  Clark  and  those  who  followed  him, 
let  not  the  loyalty  of  the  French  be  forgotten,  though  it 
be  not  understood. 

At  eventide  came  to  lurid  and  disordered  brains  the 
knowledge  that  the  other  branch  was  here.  And,  merci 
fully,  it  was  shallower  than  the  first.  Holding  his  rifle 
high,  with  a  war-whoop  Bill  Cowan  plunged  into  the 
stream.  Unable  to  contain  myself  more,  I  flung  my 
drum  overboard  and  went  after  it,  and  amid  shouts  and 
laughter  I  was  towed  across  by  James  Ray. 

Colonel  Clark  stood  watching  from  the  bank  above,  and 
it  was  he  who  pulled  me,  bedraggled,  to  dry  land.  I  i*an 
away  to  help  gather  brush  for  a  fire.  As  I  was  heaping 
this  in  a  pile  I  heard  something  that  I  should  not  have 
heard.  Nor  ought  I  to  repeat  it  now,  though  I  did  not 
need  the  flames  to  send  the  blood  tingling  through  my 
body. 

"  McChesney,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  we  must  thank  our 
atars  that  we  brought  the  boy  along.  He  has  grit,  and  as 
good  a  head  as  any  of  us.  I  reckon  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Aim  some  of  them  would  have  turned  back  long  ago." 

I  saw  Tom  grinning  at  the  Colonel  as  gratefully  as 
though  he  himself  had  been,  praised. 


"AN'   YE  HAD   BEEN  WHEEE  I  HAD  BEEN"    221 

The  blaze  started,  and  soon  we  had  a  bonfire.  Some 
had  not  the  strength  to  hold  out  the  buffalo  meat  to  the 
fire.  Even  the  grumblers  and  mutineers  were  silent, 
owing  to  the  ordeal  they  had  gone  through.  But  pres 
ently,  when  they  began  to  be  warmed  and  fed,  they  talked 
of  other  trials  to  be  borne.  The  Embarrass  and  the  big 
Wabash,  for  example.  These  must  be  like  the  sea  itself. 

"  Take  the  back  trail,  if  ye  like,"  said  Bill  Cowan,  with 
a  loud  laugh.  "  I  reckon  the  rest  of  us  kin  float  to  Vin- 
cennes  on  Davy's  drum." 

But  there  was  no  taking  the  back  trail  now ;  and  well 
they  knew  it.  The  games  began,  the  unwilling  being 
forced  to  play,  and  before  they  fell  asleep  that  night  they 
had  taken  Vincennes,  scalped  the  Hair  Buyer,  and  were 
far  on  the  march  to  Detroit. 

Mercifully,  now  that  their  stomachs  were  full,  they  had 
no  worries.  Few  knew  the  danger  we  were  in  of  being 
cut  off  by  Hamilton's  roving  bands  of  Indians.  There 
would  be  no  retreat,  no  escape,  but  a  fight  to  the  death. 
And  I  heard  this,  and  much  more  that  was  spoken  of  in 
low  tones  at  the  Colonel's  fire  far  into  the  night,  of  which 
I  never  told  the  rank  and  file,  —  not  even  Tom  McChesney . 

On  and  on,  through  rain  and  water,  we  marched  until 
we  drew  near  to  the  river  Embarrass.  Drew  near,  did  I 
say  ?  "  Sure,  daiiin',"  said  Terence,  staring  comically 
over  the  gray  waste,  "we've  been  in  it  since  Choosd'y." 
There  was  small  exaggeration  in  it.  In  vain  did  our  feet 
seek  the  deeper  water.  It  would  go  no  higher  than  our 
knees,  and  the  sound  which  the  regiment  made  in  march 
ing  was  like  that  of  a  great  flatboat  going  against  the 
current.  It  had  been  a  sad,  lavender-colored  day,  and 
now  that  the  gloom  of  the  night  was  setting  in,  and  not 
so  much  as  a  hummock  showed  itself  above  the  surface, 
the  Creoles  began  to  murmur.  And  small  wonder ! 
Where  was  this  man  leading  them,  this  Clark  who  had 
come  amongst  them  from  the  skies,  as  it  were  ?  Did  he 
know,  himself  ?  Night  fell  as  though  a  blanket  had  been 
spread  over  the  tree-tops,  and  above  the  dreary  splashing 
men  could  be  heard  calling  to  one  another  in  the  darkness. 


222  THE  CROSSING 

Nor  was  there  any  supper  ahead.  For  our  food  was  gone, 
and  no  game  was  to  be  shot  over  this  watery  waste.  A 
cold  like  that  of  eternal  space  settled  in  our  bones.  Even 
Terence  McCann  grumbled. 

"  Begob,"  said  he,  "  'tis  fine  weather  for  fishes,  and  the 
birrds  are  that  comfortable  in  the  threes.  'Tis  no  place 
for  a  baste  at  all,  at  all." 

Sometime  in  the  night  there  was  a  cry.  Ray  had  found 
the  water  falling  from  an  oozy  bank,  and  there  we  dozed 
fitfully  until  we  were  startled  by  a  distant  boom. 

It  was  Governor  Hamilton's  morning  gun  at  Fort  Sack- 
ville,  Vincennes. 

There  was  no  breakfast.  How  we  made  our  way,  be 
numbed  with  hunger  and  cold,  to  the  banks  of  the  Wabash, 
I  know  not.  Captain  McCarty's  company  was  set  to  mak 
ing  canoes,  and  the  rest  of  us  looked  on  apathetically  as 
the  huge  trees  staggered  and  fell  amidst  a  fountain  of 
spray  in  the  shallow  water.  We  were  but  three  leagues 
from  Vincennes.  A  raft  was  bound  together,  and  Tom 
McChesney  and  three  other  scouts  sent  on  a  desperate 
journey  across  the  river  in  search  of  boats  and  provisions, 
lest  we  starve  and  fall  and  die  on  the  wet  flats.  Before 
he  left  Tom  came  to  me,  and  the  remembrance  of  his 
gaunt  face  haunted  me  for  many  years  after.  He  drew 
something  from  his  bosom  and  held  it  out  to  me,  and  I 
saw  that  it  was  a  bit  of  buffalo  steak  which  he  had  saved. 
I  shook  my  head,  and  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes. 

"  Come,  Davy,"  he  said,  "  ye're  so  little,  and  I  beant 
hungry." 

Again  I  shook  my  head,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  could 
say  nothing. 

"  I  reckon  Polly  Ann'd  never  forgive  me  if  anything 
was  to  happen  to  you,"  said  he. 

At  that  I  grew  strangely  angry. 

"  It's  you  who  need  it,"  I  cried,  "  it's  you  that  has  to  do 
the  work.  And  she  told  me  to  take  care  of  you." 

The  big  fellow  grinned  sheepishly,  as  was  his  wont. 

"  'Tis  only  a  bite,"  he  pleaded,  "  'twouldn't  only  make 
me  hungry,  and  "  — he  looked  hard  at  me  —  "  and  it  might 


"AN'   YE  HAD  BEEN  WHERE  I  HAD   BEEN"    223 

be  the  savin'  of  you.  Ye'll  not  eat  it  for  Polly  Ann's 
sake?"  he  asked  coaxingly. 

"  'Twould  not  be  serving  her,"  I  answered  indignantly. 

"  Ye're  an  obstinate  little  deevil !  "  he  cried,  and,  drop 
ping  the  morsel  on  the  freshly  cut  stump,  he  stalked  away. 
I  ran  after  him,  crying  out,  but  he  leaped  on  the  raft  that 
was  already  in  the  stream  and  began  to  pole  across.  I 
slipped  the  piece  into  my  own  hunting  shirt. 

All  day  the  men  who  were  too  weak  to  swing  axes  sat 
listless  on  the  bank,  watching  in  vain  for  some  sight  of  the 
Willing.  They  saw  a  canoe  rounding  the  bend  instead, 
with  a  single  occupant  paddling  madly.  And  who  should 
this  be  but  Captain  Willing's  own  brother,  escaped  from 
the  fort,  where  he  had  been  a  prisoner.  He  told  us  that  a 
man  named  Maisonville,  with  a  party  of  Indians,  was  in 
pursuit  of  him,  and  the  next  piece  of  news  he  had  was  in 
the  way  of  raising  our  despair  a  little.  Governor  Hamil 
ton's  astonishment  at  seeing  this  force  here  and  now  would 
be  as  great  as  his  own.  Governor  Hamilton  had  said,  in 
deed,  that  only  a  navy  could  take  Vincennes  this  year. 
Unfortunately,  Mr.  Willing  brought  no  food.  Next  in 
order  came  five  Frenchmen,  trapped  by  our  scouts,  nor  had 
they  any  provisions.  But  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  never 
forget  how  Tom  McChesney  returned  at  nightfall,  the 
hero  of  the  hour.  He  had  shot  a  deer ;  and  never  did 
wolves  pick  an  animal  cleaner.  They  pressed  on  me  a 
choice  piece  of  it,  these  great-hearted  men  who  were  will 
ing  to  go  hungry  for  the  sake  of  a  child,  and  when  I  re 
fused  it  they  would  have  forced  it  down  my  throat. 
Swein  Poulsson,  he  that  once  hid  under  the  bed,  deserves 
a  special  tablet  to  his  memory.  He  was  for  giving  me  all 
he  had,  though  his  little  eyes  were  unnaturally  bright  and 
the  red  had  left  his  cheeks  now. 

"  He  haf  no  belly,  only  a  leedle  on  his  backbone  !  "  he 
cried. 

"  Begob,  thin,  he  has  the  backbone,"  said  Terence. 

"  I  have  a  piece,"  said  I,  and  drew  forth  that  which  Tom 
had  given  me. 

They  brought  a  quarter  of  a  saddle  to  Colonel  Clark, 


224  THE  CEOSSmG 

but  he  smiled  at  them  kindly  and  told  them  to  divide  it 
amongst  the  weak.  He  looked  at  me  as  I  sat  with  my 
feet  crossed  on  the  stump. 

"  I  will  follow  Davy's  example,"  said  he. 

At  length  the  canoes  were  finished  and  we  crossed  the 
river,  swimming  over  the  few  miserable  skeletons  of  the 
French  ponies  we  had  brought  along.  We  came  to  a 
sugar  camp,  and  beyond  it,  stretching  between  us  and 
Vincennes,  was  a  sea  of  water.  Here  we  made  our  camp, 
if  camp  it  could  be  called.  There  was  no  fire,  no  food, 
and  the  water  seeped  out  of  the  ground  on  which  we  lay. 
Some  of  those  even  who  had  not  yet  spoken  now  openly 
said  that  we  could  go  no  farther.  For  the  wind  had 
shifted  into  the  northwest,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  we 
had  left  Kaskaskia  we  saw  the  stars  gleaming  like  scattered 
diamonds  in  the  sky.  Bit  by  bit  the  ground  hardened, 
and  if  by  chance  we  dozed  we  stuck  to  it.  Morning 
found  the  men  huddled  like  sheep,  their  hunting  shirts 
hard  as  boards,  and  long  before  Hamilton's  gun  we  were 
up  and  stamping.  Antoine  poked  the  butt  of  his  rifle 
through  the  ice  of  the  lake  in  front  of  us. 

"  I  think  we  not  get  to  Vincennes  this  day,"  he  said. 

Colonel  Clark,  who  heard  him,  turned  to  me. 

"  Fetch  McChesney  here,  Davy,"  he  said.     Tom  came. 

"  McChesney,"  said  he,  "when  I  give  the  word,  take 
Davy  and  his  drum  on  your  shoulders  and  follow  me. 
And  Davy,  do  you  think  you  can  sing  that  song  you  gave 
us  the  other  night  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

Without  more  ado  the  Colonel  broke  the  skim  cf  ice, 
and,  taking  some  of  the  water  in  his  hand,  poured  powder 
from  his  flask  into  it  and  rubbed  it  on  his  face  until  he 
was  the  color  of  an  Indian.  Stepping  back,  he  raised  his 
sword  high  in  the  air,  and,  shouting  the  Shawanee  war- 
whoop,  took  a  flying  leap  up  to  his  thighs  in  the  water. 
Tom  swung  me  instantly  to  his  shoulder  and  followed, 
I  beating  the  charge  with  all  my  might,  though  my 
hands  were  so  numb  that  I  could  scarce  hold  the  sticks. 
Strangest  of  all,  to  a  man  they  came  shouting  after  us. 


''  15KATING   THE    CHARGE    WITH    ALL    MY    MIGHT.' 


"AN'  YE  HAD  BEEN  WHERE  I   HAD  BEEN"    225 

"  Now,  Davy  !  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I've  faught  on  land,  I've  faught  at  sea, 

At  hame  I  faught  my  aunty,  O ; 
But  I  met  the  deevil  and  Dundee 
On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O." 

I  piped  it  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  and  sure  enough  the 
regiment  took  up  the  chorus,  for  it  had  a  famous  swing. 

"  An'  ye  had  been  where  I  had  been, 

Ye  wad  na  be  sae  cantie,  O ; 
An'  ye  had  seen  what  I  ha'e  seen 
On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O." 

When  their  breath  was  gone  we  heard  Cowan  shout  that 
he  had  found  a  path  under  his  feet,  —  a  path  that  was  on 
dry  land  in  the  summer-time.  We  followed  it,  feeling 
carefully,  and  at  length,  when  we  had  suffered  all  that  we 
could  bear,  we  stumbled  on  to  a  dry  ridge.  Here  we 
spent  another  night  of  torture,  with  a  second  backwater 
facing  us  coated  with  a  full  inch  of  ice. 

And  still  there  was  nothing  to  eat. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   HAIR    BUYER   TRAPPED 

To  lie  the  night  on  adamant,  pierced  by  the  needles 
of  the  frost;  to  awake  shivering  and  famished,  until  the 
meaning  of  an  inch  of  ice  on  the  backwater  comes  to  your 
mind,  —  these  are  not  calculated  to  put  a  man  into  an 
equable  mood  to  listen  to  oratory.  Nevertheless  there 
was  a  kind  of  oratory  to  fit  the  case.  To  picture  the 
misery  of  these  men  is  well-nigh  impossible.  They  stood 
sluggishly  in  groups,  dazed  by  suffering,  and  their  faces 
were  drawn  and  their  eyes  ringed,  their  beards  and  hair 
matted .  And  many  found  it  in  their  hearts  to  curse  Clark 
and  that  government  for  which  he  fought. 

When  the  red  fire  of  the  sun  glowed  through  the  bare 
branches  that  morning,  it  seemed  as  if  the  campaign  had 
spent  itself  like  an  arrow  which  drops  at  the  foot  of  the 
mark.  Could  life  and  interest  and  enthusiasm  be  infused 
again  in  such  as  these  ?  I  have  ceased  to  marvel  how  it 
was  done.  A  man  no  less  haggard  than  the  rest,  but  with 
a  compelling  force  in  his  eyes,  pointed  with  a  blade  to  the 
hills  across  the  river.  They  must  get  to  them,  he  said, 
and  their  troubles  would  be  ended.  He  said  more,  and 
they  cheered  him.  These  are  the  bare  facts.  He  picked 
a  man  here,  and  another  there,  and  these  went  silently  to 
a  grim  duty  behind  the  regiment. 

"  If  any  try  to  go  back,  shoot  them  down !  "  he  cried. 

Then  with  a  gun-butt  he  shattered  the  ice  and  was  the 
first  to  leap  into  the  water  under  it.  They  followed,  some 
with  a  cheer  that  was  most  pitiful  of  all.  They  followed 
him  blindly,  as  men  go  to  torture,  but  they  followed  him, 
and  the  splashing  and  crushing  of  the  ice  were  sounds  to 

226 


THE  HAIR  BUYER  TRAPPED  227 

freeze  my  body.  I  was  put  in  a  canoe.  In  my  day  I  have 
beheld  great  suffering  and  hardship,  and  none  of  it  com 
pared  to  this.  Torn  with  pity,  I  saw  them  reeling  through 
the  water,  now  grasping  trees  and  bushes  to  try  to  keep 
their  feet,  the  strongest  breaking  the  way  ahead  and  sup 
porting  the  weak  between  them.  More  than  once  Clark 
himself  tottered  where  he  beat  the  ice  at  the  apex  of  the 
line.  Some  swooned  and  would  have  drowned  had  they 
not  been  dragged  across  the  canoe  and  chafed  back  to 
consciousness.  By  inches  the  water  shallowed.  Clark 
reached  the  high  ground,  and  then  Bill  Cowan,  with  a  man 
on  each  shoulder.  Then  others  endured  to  the  shallows 
to  fall  heavily  in  the  crumbled  ice  and  be  dragged  out 
before  they  died.  But  at  length,  by  God's  grace,  the  whole 
regiment  was  on  the  land.  Fires  would  not  revive  some, 
but  Clark  himself  seized  a  fainting  man  by  the  arms  and 
walked  him  up  and  down  in  the  sunlight  until  his  blood 
ran  again. 

It  was  a  glorious  day,  a  day  when  the  sap  ran  in  the 
maples,  and  the  sun  soared  upwards  in  a  sky  of  the  palest 
blue.  All  this  we  saw  through  the  tracery  of  the  leafless 
branches,  —  a  mirthless,  shivering  crowd,  crept  through 
a  hell  of  weather  into  the  Hair  Buyer's  very  lair.  Had  he 
neither  heard  nor  seen? 

Down  the  steel-blue  lane  of  water  between  the  ice  came 
a  canoe.  Our  stunted  senses  perceived  it,  unresponsive. 
A  man  cried  out  (it  was  Tom  McChesney)  ;  now  some  of 
them  had  leaped  into  the  pirogue,  now  they  were  return 
ing.  In  the  towed  canoe  two  fat  and  stolid  squaws  and  a 
pappoose  were  huddled,  and  beside  them — God  be  praised ! 
—  food.  A  piece  of  buffalo  on  its  way  to  town,  and  in  the 
end  compartment  of  the  boat  tallow  and  bear's  grease  lay 
revealed  by  two  blows  of  the  tomahawk.  The  kettles  — 
long  disused  —  were  fetched,  and  broth  made  and  fed  in 
sips  to  the  weakest,  while  the  strongest  looked  on  and 
smiled  in  an  agony  of  self-restraint.  It  was  a  fearful 
thing  to  see  men  whose  legs  had  refused  service  struggle 
to  their  feet  when  they  had  drunk  the  steaming,  greasy 
mixture.  And  the  Colonel,  standing  by  the  river's  edge. 


228  THE  CKOSSING 

turned  his  face  away  —  down-stream.  And  then,  as  often, 
I  saw  the  other  side  of  the  man.  Suddenly  he  looked  at 
me,  standing  wistful  at  his  side. 

"  They  have  cursed  me,"  said  he,  by  way  of  a  question, 
"they  have  cursed  me  every  day."  And  seeing  me  silent, 
he  insisted,  "  Tell  me,  is  it  not  so,  Davy?  " 

"It  is  so,"  I  said,  wondering  that  he  should  pry,  "but 
it  was  while  they  suffered.  And  —  and  some  refrained.'' 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked  queerly. 

"I  —  I  could  not,  sir.     For  I  asked  leave  to  come." 

"  If  they  have  condemned  me  to  a  thousand  hells,"  said 
he,  dispassionately,  "I  should  not  blame  them."  Again 
he  looked  at  me.  "  Do  you  understand  what  you  have 
done?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said  uneasily. 

"And  yet  there  are  some  human  qualities  in  you, 
Davy.  You  have  been  worth  more  to  me  than  another 
regiment." 

I  stared. 

"  When  you  grow  older,  if  you  ever  do,  tell  your  chil 
dren  that  once  upon  a  time  you  put  a  hundred  men  to 
shame.  It  is  no  small  thing." 

Seeing  him  relapse  into  silence,  I  did  not  speak.  For 
the  space  of  half  an  hour  he  stared  down  the  river,  and  I 
knew  that  he  was  looking  vainly  for  the  Willing. 

At  noon  we  crossed,  piecemeal,  a  deep  lake  in  the  canoes, 
and  marching  awhile  came  to  a  timber-covered  rise  which 
our  French  prisoners  named  as  the  Warriors'  Island.  And 
from  the  shelter  of  its  trees  we  saw  the  steely  lines  of  a 
score  of  low  ponds,  and  over  the  tops  of  as  many  ridges 
a  huddle  of  brown  houses  on  the  higher  ground. 

And  this  was  the  place  we  had  all  but  sold  our  lives  to 
behold  !  This  was  Vincennes  at  last !  We  were  on  the 
heights  behind  the  town,  —  we  were  at  the  back  door,  as 
it  were.  At  th}  far  side,  on  the  Wabash  River,  was  the 
front  door,  or  Fort  Sackville,  where  the  banner  of  England 
snapped  in  the  February  breeze. 

We  stood  there,  looking,  as  the  afternoon  light  flooded 
the  plain.  Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken. 


THE  HAIR  BUYER   TRAPPED  229 

"  Hooray  for  Clark !  "  cried  a  man  at  the  edge  of  the 
copse. 

"  Hooray  for  Clark  !  "  —  it  was  the  whole  regiment  this 
time.  From  execration  to  exaltation  was  but  a  step,  after 
all.  And  the  Creoles  fell  to  scoffing  at  their  sufferings  and 
even  forgot  their  hunger  in  staring  at  the  goal.  The  back 
woodsmen  took  matters  more  stolidly,  having  acquired  long 
since  the  art  of  waiting.  They  lounged  about,  cleaning 
their  guns,  watching  the  myriad  flocks  of  wild  ducks  and 
geese  casting  blue-black  shadows  on  the  ponds. 

"  Arrah,  McChesney,"  said  Terence,  as  he  watched  the 
circling  birds,  "  Clark's  a  great  man,  but  'tis  more  riverince 
I'd  have  for  him  if  wan  av  thim  was  sizzling  on  the  end  of 
me  ramrod." 

"  I'd  sooner  hev  the  Ha'r  Buyer's  sculp,"  said  Tom. 

Presently  there  was  a  drama  performed  for  our  delecta 
tion.  A  shot  came  down  the  wind,  and  we  perceived  that 
several  innocent  Creole  gentlemen,  unconscious  of  what  the 
timber  held,  were  shooting  the  ducks  and  geese.  Where 
upon  Clark  chose  Antoine  and  three  of  our  own  Creoles 
to  sally  out  and  shoot  likewise  —  as  decoys.  We  watched 
them  working  their  way  over  the  ridges,  and  finally  saw 
them  coming  back  with  one  of  the  Vincennes  sportsmen. 
I  cannot  begin  to  depict  the  astonishment  of  this  man  when 
he  reached  the  copse,  and  was  led  before  our  lean,  square- 
shouldered  commander.  Yes,  monsieur,  he  was  a  friend 
of  les  Americains.  Did  Governor  Hamilton  know  that  a 
visit  was  imminent  ?  Pardieu  (with  many  shrugs  and 
outward  gestures  of  the  palms),  Governor  Hamilton  had 
said  if  the  Long  Knives  had  wings  or  fins  they  might  reach 
him  now  —  he  was  all  unprepared. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Colonel  Clark  to  Captains  Bowman 
and  McCarty  and  Williams,  "we  have  come  so  far  by 
audacity,  and  we  must  continue  by  audacity.  It  is  of  no 
use  to  wait  for  the  gunboat,  and  every  moment  we  run 
the  risk  of  discovery.  I  shall  write  an  open  letter  to  the 
inhabitants  of  Vincennes,  which  the  prisoner  shall  take  into 
town.  I  shall  tell  them  that  those  who  are  true  to  the 
oath  they  swore  to  Father  Gibault  shall  not  be  molested 


230  THE   CROSSING 

if  they  remain  quietly  in  their  houses.  Let  those  who  are 
on  the  side  of  the  Hair  Buyer  General  and  his  King  go  to 
the  fort  and  fight  there.'' 

He  bade  me  fetch  the  portfolio  he  carried,  and  with 
numbed  fingers  wrote  the  letter  while  his  captains  stared 
in  admiration  and  amazement.  What  a  stroke  was  this ! 
There  were  six  hundred  men  in  the  town  and  fort, — soldiers, 
inhabitants,  and  Indians,  —  while  we  had  but  170,  starved 
and  weakened  by  their  incredible  march.  But  Clark  was 
not  to  be  daunted.  Whipping  out  his  field-glasses,  he  took 
a  stand  on  a  little  mound  under  the  trees  and  followed  the 
fast-galloping  messenger  across  the  plain ;  saw  him  enter 
the  town ;  saw  the  stir  in  the  streets,  knots  of  men  riding 
out  and  gazing,  hands  on  foreheads,  towards  the  place 
where  we  were.  But,  as  the  minutes  rolled  into  hours, 
there  was  no  further  alarm.  No  gun,  no  beat  to  quarters 
or  bugle-call  from  Fort  Sackville.  What  could  it  mean  ? 

Clark's  next  move  was  an  enigma,  for  he  set  the  men  to 
cutting  and  trimming  tall  sapling  poles.  To  these  were 
tied  (how  reverently !)  the  twenty  stands  of  colors  which 
loving  Creole  hands  had  stitched.  The  boisterous  day  was 
reddening  to  its  close  as  the  Colonel  lined  his  little  army  in 
front  of  the  wood,  and  we  covered  the  space  of  four  thou 
sand.  For  the  men  were  twenty  feet  apart  and  every 
tenth  carried  a  standard.  Suddenly  we  were  aghast  as 
the  full  meaning  of  the  inspiration  dawned  upon  us.  The 
command  was  given,  and  we  started  on  our  march  toward 
Vincennes.  But  not  straight,  —  zigzagging,  always  keeping 
the  ridges  between  us  and  the  town,  and  to  the  watching 
inhabitants  it  seemed  as  if  thousands  were  coming  to  crush 
them.  Night  fell,  the  colors  were  furled  and  the  saplings 
dropped,  and  we  pressed  into  serried  ranks  and  marched 
straight  over  hill  and  dale  for  the  lights  that  were  beginning 
to  twinkle  ahead  of  us. 

We  halted  once  more,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Clark 
himself  had  picked  fourteen  men  to  go  under  Lieutenant 
Bayley  through  the  town  and  take  the  fort  from  the  other 
side.  Here  was  audacity  with  a  vengeance.  You  may  be 
sure  that  Tom  and  Cowan  and  Ray  were  among  these,  and 


THE   HAIR   BUYER  TRAPPED  231 

I  trotted  after  them  with  the  drum  banging  against  my 
thighs. 

Was  ever  stronghold  taken  thus  ? 

They  went  right  into  the  town,  the  fourteen  of  them, 
into  the  main  street  that  led  directly  to  the  fort.  The 
simple  citizens  gave  back,  stupefied,  at  sight  of  the  tall, 
striding  forms.  Muffled  Indians  stood  like  statues  as  we 
passed,  but  these  raised  not  a  hand  against  us.  Where 
were  Hamilton,  Hamilton's  soldiers  and  savages?  It  was 
as  if  we  had  come  a-trading. 

The  street  rose  and  fell  in  waves,  like  the  prairie  over 
which  it  ran.  As  we  climbed  a  ridge,  here  was  a  little 
log  church,  the  rude  cross  on  the  belfry  showing  dark 
against  the  sky.  And  there,  in  front  of  us,  flanked  by 
blockhouses  with  conical  caps,  was  the  frowning  mass  of 
Fort  Sackville. 

"  Take  cover,"  said  Williams,  hoarsely.  It  seemed 
incredible. 

The  men  spread  hither  and  thither,  some  at  the  corners 
of  the  church,  some  behind  the  fences  of  the  little  gardens. 
Tom  chose  a  great  forest  tree  that  had  been  left  standing, 
and  I  went  with  him.  He  powdered  his  pan,  and  I  laid 
down  my  drum  beside  the  tree,  and  then,  with  an  impulse 
that  was  rare,  Tom  seized  me  by  the  collar  and  drew  me 
to  him. 

"  Davy,"  he  whispered,  and  I  pinched  him.  "  Davy,  I 
reckon  Polly  Ann'd  be  kinder  surprised  if  she  knew  where 
we  was.  Eh  ?  " 

I  nodded.  It  seemed  strange,  indeed,  to  be  talking 
thus  at  such  a  place.  Life  has  taught  me  since  that  it 
was  not  so  strange,  for  however  a  man  may  strive  and 
suffer  for  an  object,  he  usually  sits  quiet  at  the  consumma 
tion.  Here  we  were  in  the  door-yard  of  a  peaceful  cabin, 
the  ground  frozen  in  lumps  under  our  feet,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  wind  had  something  to  do  with  the  light 
ness  of  the  night. 

"  Davy,"  whispered  Tom  again,  "  how'd  ye  like  to  see 
the  little  feller  to  home  ?  " 

I  pinched  him  again,  and  harder  this  time,  for  I  was  at 


232  THE   CROSSING 

a  loss  for  adequate  words.  The  muscles  of  his  legs  were 
as  hard  as  the  strands  of  a  rope,  and  his  buckskin  breeches 
frozen  so  that  they  cracked  under  my  lingers. 

Suddenly  a  flickering  light  arose  ahead  of  us,  and  another, 
and  we  saw  that  they  were  candles  beginning  to  twinkle 
through  the  palings  of  the  fort.  These  were  badly  set, 
the  width  of  a  man's  hand  apart.  Presently  here  comes  a 
soldier  with  a  torch,  and  as  he  walked  we  could  see  from 
crack  to  crack  his  bluff  face  all  reddened  by  the  light, 
and  so  near  were  we  that  we  heard  the  words  of  his 
song:  — 

"  O,  there  came  a  lass  to  Sudbury  Fair, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  nonny-nonny! 
Ami  she  had"  a  rose  in  her  raven  hair, 
With  a  hey,  arid  a  ho,  nonny-nonny ! " 

"  By  the  etarnal  !  "  said  Tom,  following  the  man  along 
the  palings  with  the  muzzle  of  his  Deckard,  "by  the 
etarnal  !  'tis  like  shootin'  beef." 

A  gusi;  of  laughter  came  from  somewhere  beyond.  The 
burly  soldier  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  blockhouse. 

"  Hi,  Jem,  have  ye  seen  the  General's  man  ?  His  Honor's 
in  a  'igh  temper,  I  warrant  ye." 

It  was  fortunate  for  Jem  that  he  put  his  foot  inside  the 
blockhouse  door. 

"  Now,  boys  !  " 

It  was  Williams's  voice,  and  fourteen  rifles  sputtered  out 
a  ragged  volley. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and  then  a  score  of 
voices  raised  in  consternation,  —  shouting,  cursing,  com 
manding.  Heavy  feet  pounded  on  the  platform  of  the 
blockhouse.  While  Tom  was  savagely  jamming  in  powder 
and  ball,  the  wicket  gate  of  the  fort  opened,  a  man  came 
out  and  ran  to  a  house  a  biscuit's  throw  away,  and  ran 
back  again  before  he  was  shot  at,  slamming  the  gate  after 
him.  Tom  swore. 

"  We've  got  but  the  ten  rounds,"  he  said,  dropping  his 
rifle  to  his  knee.  "I  reckon  'tis  no  use  to  waste  it." 

"  The  Willing  may  come  to-night,"  I  answered. 


THE  HAIR  BUYER  TRAPPED  233 

There  was  a  bugle  winding  a  strange  call,  and  the  roll 
of  a  drum,  and  the  running  continued. 

"  Don't  fire  till  you're  sure,  boys,"  said  Captain  Williams. 

Our  eyes  caught  sight  of  a  form  in  the  blockhouse  port, 
there  was  an  instant  when  a  candle  flung  its  rays  upon  a 
cannon's  flank,  and  Tom's  rifle  spat  a  rod  of  flame.  A  red 
blot  hid  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  behind  it  a  man  staggered 
and  fell  on  the  candle,  while  the  shot  crunched  its  way 
through  the  logs  of  the  cottage  in  the  yard  where  we 
stood.  And  now  the  battle  was  on  in  earnest,  fire  dart 
ing  here  and  there  from  the  black  wall,  bullets  whistling 
and  flying  wide,  and  at  intervals  cannon  belching,  their 
shot  grinding  through  trees  and  houses.  But  our  men 
waited  until  the  gunners  lit  their  matches  in  the  cannon- 
ports,  —  it  was  no  trick  for  a  backwoodsman. 

At  length  there  came  a  popping  right  and  left,  and  we 
knew  that  Bowman  and  McCarty's  men  had  swung  into 
position  there. 

An  hour  passed,  and  a  shadow  came  along  our  line, 
darting  from  cover  to  cover.  It  was  Lieutenant  Bayley, 
and  he  sent  me  back  to  find  the  Colonel  and  to  tell  him 
that  the  men  had  but  a  few  rounds  left.  I  sped  through 
the  streets  on  the  errand,  spied  a  Creole  company  waiting 
in  reserve,  and  near  them,  behind  a  warehouse,  a  knot  of 
backwoodsmen,  French,  and  Indians,  lighted  up  by  a 
smoking  torch.  And  here  was  Colonel  Clark  talking  to  a 
big,  blanketed  chief.  I  was  hovering  around  the  skirts  of 
the  crowd  and  seeking  for  an  opening,  when  a  hand  pulled 
me  off  my  feet. 

"  What '  11  ye  be  afther  now  ?  "  said  a  voice,  which  was 
Terence's. 

"  Let  me  go,"  I  cried,  "  I  have  a  message  from  Lieu 
tenant  Bayley." 

"  Sure,"  said  Terence,  "  a  man'd  think  ye  had  the  Hair 
Buyer's  sculp  in  yere  pocket.  The  Colonel  is  treaty- 
makin'  with  Tobaccy's  Son,  the  grreatest  Injun  in  these 
parrts." 

"I  don't  care." 

"  Hist !  "  said  Terence. 


234  THE   CROSSING 

"  Let  me  go,"  I  yelled,  so  loudly  that  the  Colonel 
turned,  and  Terence  dropped  me  like  a  live  coal.  I 
wormed  my  way  to  where  Clark  stood.  Tobacco's  Son 
was  at  that  moment  protesting  that  the  Big  Knives  were 
his  brothers,  and  declaring  that  before  morning  broke  he 
would  have  one  hundred  warriors  for  the  Great  White 
Chief.  Had  he  not  made  a  treaty  of  peace  with  Captain 
Helm,  who  was  even  then  a  prisoner  of  the  British 
general  in  the  fort? 

Colonel  Clark  replied  that  he  knew  well  of  the  fidelity 
of  Tobacco's  Son  to  the  Big  Knives,  that  Tobacco's  Son 
had  remained  stanch  in  the  face  of  bribes  and  presents 
(this  was  true).  Now  all  that  Colonel  Clark  desired  of 
Tobacco's  Son  besides  his  friendship  was  that  he  would 
keep  his  warriors  from  battle.  The  Big  Knives  would 
fight  their  own  fight.  To  this  sentiment  Tobacco's  Son 
grunted  extreme  approval.  Colonel  Clark  turned  to  me. 

"  What  is  it,  Davy  ?  "  lie  asked. 

I  told  him. 

"Tobacco's  Son  has  dug  up  for  us  King  George's 
ammunition,"  he  said.  "  Go  tell  Lieutenant  Bayley  that 
I  will  send  him  enough  to  last  him  a  month." 

I  sped  away  with  the  message.  Presently  I  came  back 
again,  upon  another  message,  and  they  were  eating,  — 
those  reserves,  —  they  were  eating  as  I  had  never  seen 
men  eat  but  once,  at  Kaskaskia.  The  baker  stood  by 
with  lifted  palms,  imploring  the  saints  that  he  might  have 
some  compensation,  until  Clark  sent  him  back  to  his  shop 
to  knead  and  bake  again.  The  good  Creoles  approached 
the  fires  with  the  contents  of  their  larders  in  their  hands. 
Terence  tossed  me  a  loaf  the  size  of  a  cannon  ball,  and 
another. 

"  Fetch  that  wan  to  wan  av  the  b'ys,"  said  he. 

I  seized  as  much  as  my  arms  could  hold  and  scurried 
away  to  the  firing  line  once  more,  and,  heedless  of  whistling 
bullets,  darted  from  man  to  man  until  the  bread  was  ex 
hausted.  Not  a  one  but  gave  me  a  "  God  bless  you,  Davy," 
ere  he  seized  it  with  a  great  hand  and  began  to  eat  in 
wolfish  bites,  his  Deckard  always  on  the  watch  the  while. 


THE   HAIR  BUYER  TRAPPED  235 

There  was  no  sleep  in  the  village.  All  night  long 
while  the  rifles  sputtered,  the  villagers  in  their  capotes  — 
men,  women,  and  children  —  huddled  around  the  fires. 
The  young  men  of  the  militia  begged  Clark  to  allow 
them  to  fight,  and  to  keep  them  well  affected  he  sent 
some  here  and  there  amongst  our  lines.  For  our  Colonel's 
strength  was  not  counted  by  rifles  or  men  alone :  he 
fought  with  his  brain.  As  Hamilton,  the  Hair  Buyer, 
made  his  rounds,  he  believed  the  town  to  be  in  possession 
of  a  horde  of  Kentuckians.  Shouts,  war-whoops,  and  bursts 
of  laughter  went  up  from  behind  the  town.  Surely  a  great 
force  was  there,  a  small  part  of  which  had  been  sent  to 
play  with  him  and  his  men.  On  the  fighting  line,  when 
there  was  a  lull,  our  backwoodsmen  stood  up  behind  their 
trees  and  cursed  the  enemy  roundly,  and  often  by  these 
taunts  persuaded  the  furious  gunners  to  open  their  ports 
and  fire  their  cannon.  Woe  be  to  him  that  showed  an 
arm  or  a  shoulder  !  Though  a  casement  be  lifted  ever  so 
warily,  a  dozen  balls  would  fly  into  it.  And  at  length, 
when  some  of  the  besieged  had  died  in  their  anger,  the 
ports  were  opened  no  more.  It  was  then  our  sharpshooters 
crept  up  boldly  to  within  thirty  yards  of  them — nay,  it 
seemed  as  if  they  lay  under  the  very  walls  of  the  fort. 
And  through  the  night  the  figure  of  the  Colonel  himself 
was  often  seen  amongst  them,  praising  their  markmanship, 
pleading  with  every  man  not  to  expose  himself  without 
cause.  He  spied  me  where  I  had  wormed  myself  behind 
the  foot-board  of  a  picket  fence  beneath  the  cannon-port 
of  a  blockhouse.  It  was  during  one  of  the  breathing  spaces. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  he  to  Cowan,  sharply,  feeling  me 
with  his  foot. 

"  I  reckon  it's  Davy,  sir,"  said  my  friend,  somewhat 
sheepishly.  "  We  can't  do  nothin'  with  him.  He's  been 
up  and  down  the  line  twenty  times  this  night." 

"  What  doing  ?  "  says  the  Colonel. 

"  Bread  and  powder  and  bullets,"  answered  Bill. 

"  But  that's  all  over,"  says  Clark. 

"  He's  the  very  devil  to  pry,"  answered  Bill.  "  The 
first  we  know  he'll  be  into  the  fort  under  the  logs." 


236  THE  CROSSING 

"Or  between  them,"  says  Clark,  with  a  glance  at  the 
open  palings.  "Come  here,  Davy." 

I  followed  him,  dodging  between  the  houses,  and  when 
we  had  got  off  the  line  he  took  me  by  the  two  shoulders 
from  behind. 

"•You  little  rascal,"  said  he,  shaking  me,  "how  am  I  to 
look  out  for  an  army  and  you  besides  ?  Have  you  had  any 
thing  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

We  came  to  the  fires,  and  Captain  Bowman  hurried  up 
to  meet  him. 

"  We're  piling  up  earthworks  and  barricades,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  for  the  fight  to-morrow.  My  God  !  if  the 
Willing  would  only  come,  we  could  put  our  cannon  into 
them." 

Clark  laughed. 

"  Bowman,"  said  he,  kindly,  "  has  Davy  fed  you  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  says  the  Captain,  surprised,  "  I've  had  no  time 
to  eat." 

"  He  seems  to  have  fed  the  whole  army,"  said  the 
Colonel.  He  paused.  "  Have  they  scented  Lamothe  or 
Maisonville  ?  " 

"  Devil  a  scent !  "  cried  the  Captain,  "  and  we've  scoured 
wood  and  quagmire.  They  tell  me  that  Lamothe  has  a 
very  pretty  force  of  redskins  at  his  heels." 

"  Let  McChesney  go,"  said  Clark  sharply,  "  McChesney 
and  Ray.  I'll  warrant  they  can  find  'em." 

Now  I  knew  that  Maisonville  had  gone  out  a-chasing 
Captain  Willing's  brother,  —  he  who  had  run  into  our 
arms.  Lamothe  was  a  noted  Indian  partisan  and  a  dan 
gerous  man  to  be  dogging  our  rear  that  night.  Suddenly 
there  came  a  thought  thai:  took  my  breath  and  set  my 
heart  a-hammering.  When  the  Colonel's  back  was  turned 
I  slipped  away  beyond  the  range  of  the  firelight,  and  I 
was  soon  on  the  prairie,  stumbling  over  hummocks  and 
floundering  into  ponds,  yet  going  as  quietly  as  I  could, 
turning  now  and  again  to  look  back  at  the  distant  glow  or 
to  listen  to  the  rifles  popping  around  the  fort.  The  night 
was  cloudy  and  pitchy  dark.  Twice  the  whirring  of 


THE  HAIE   BUYER  TRAPPED  237 

startled  waterfowl  frightened  me  out  of  my  senses,  but 
ambition  pricked  me  on  in  spite  of  fear.  I  may  have  gone 
a  mile  thus,  perchance  two  or  three,  straining  every  sense, 
when  a  sound  brought  me  to  a  stand.  At  first  I  could  not 
distinguish  it  because  of  my  heavy  breathing,  but  pres 
ently  I  made  sure  that  it  was  the  low  drone  of  human 
voices.  Getting  down  on  my  hands  and  knees,  I  crept 
forward,  and  felt  the  ground  rising.  The  voices  had 
ceased.  I  gained  the  crest  of  a  low  ridge,  and  threw  my 
self  flat.  A  rattle  of  musketry  set  me  shivering,  and  in 
an  agony  of  fright  I  looked  behind  me  to  discover  that  I 
could  not  be  more  than  four  hundred  yards  from  the  fort. 
I  had  made  a  circle.  I  lay  very  still,  my  eyes  watered 
with  staring,  and  then  —  the  droning  began  again.  I 
went  forward  an  inch,  then  another  and  another  down  the 
slope,  and  at  last  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  saw  dark  blurs 
against  the  ground.  I  put  out  my  hand,  my  weight  went 
after,  and  I  had  crashed  through  a  coating  of  ice  up  to  my 
elbow  in  a  pool.  There  came  a  second  of  sheer  terror,  a 
hoarse  challenge  in  French,  and  then  I  took  to  my  heels 
and  flew  towards  the  fort  at  the  top  of  my  speed. 

I  heard  them  coming  after  me,  leap  and  bound,  and  cry 
ing  out  to  one  another.  Ahead  of  me  there  might  have 
been  a  floor  or  a  precipice,  as  the  ground  looks  level  at 
night.  I  hurt  my  foot  cruelly  on  a  frozen  clod  of  earth, 
slid  down  the  washed  bank  of  a  run  into  the  Wabash, 
picked  myself  up,  scrambled  to  the  top  of  the  far  side,  and 
had  gotten  away  again  when  my  pursuer  shattered  the  ice 
behind  me.  A  hundred  yards  more,  two  figures  loomed 
up  in  front,  and  I  was  pulled  up  choking. 

"  Hang  to  him,  Fletcher  !  "  said  a  voice. 

"  Great  God  !  "  cried  Fletcher,  "  it's  Davy.  What  are 
ye  up  to  now  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  I  cried,  as  soon  as  I  had  got  my  wind. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  I  had  run  into  a  pair  of  daredevil 
young  Kentuckians  who  had  more  than  once  tasted  the 
severity  of  Clark's  discipline,  —  Fletcher  Blount  and  Jim 
Willis.  They  fairly  shook  out  of  me  what  had  happened, 
and  then  dropped  me  with  a  war-whoop  and  started  for 


238  THE  CROSSING 

the  prairie,  I  after  them,  crying  out  to  them  to  beware  of 
the  run.  A  man  must  indeed  be  fleet  of  foot  to  have 
escaped  these  young  ruffians,  and  so  it  proved.  When  I 
reached  the  hollow  there  were  the  two  of  them  fighting 
with  a  man  in  the  water,  the  ice  jangling  as  they  shifted 
their  feet. 

"  What's  yere  name  ?  "  said  Fletcher,  cuffing  and  kick 
ing  his  prisoner  until  he  cried  out  for  mercy. 

"  Maisonville,"  said  the  man,  whereupon  Fletcher  gave 
a  war-whoop  and  kicked  him  again. 

"  That's  no  way  to  use  a  prisoner,"  said  I,  hotly. 

"Hold  your  mouth,  Davy,"  said  Fletcher,  "you  didn't 
ketch  him." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  had  him  but  for  me,"  I  retorted. 

Fletcher's  answer  was  an  oath.  They  put  Maisonville 
between  them,  ran  him  through  the  town  up  to  the  firing 
line,  and  there,  to  my  horror,  they  tied  him  to  a  post  and 
used  him  for  a  shield,  despite  his  heart-rending  yells.  In 
mortal  fear  that  the  poor  man  would  be  shot  down,  I  was 
running  away  to  find  some  one  who  might  have  influence 
over  them  when  I  met  a  lieutenant.  He  came  up  and 
ordered  them  angrily  to  unbind  Maisonville  and  bring  him 
before  the  Colonel.  Fletcher  laughed,  whipped  out  his 
hunting  knife,  and  cut  the  thongs  ;  but  he  and  Willis  had 
scarce  got  twenty  paces  from  the  officer  before  they  seized 
poor  Maisonville  by  the  hair  and  made  shift  to  scalp  him. 
This  was  merely  backwoods  play,  had  Maisonville  but 
known  it.  Persuaded,  however,  that  his  last  hour  was 
come,  he  made  a  desperate  effort  to  clear  himself,  where 
upon  Fletcher  cut  off  a  piece  of  his  skin  by  mistake. 
Maisonville,  making  sure  that  he  had  been  scalped,  stood 
groaning  and  clapping  his  hand  to  his  head,  while  the  two 
young  rascals  drew  back  and  stared  at  each  other. 

"  What's  to  do  now  ?  "  said  Willis. 

"  Take  our  medicine,  I  reckon,"  aniwered  Fletcher, 
grimly.  And  they  seized  the  tottering  man  between 
them,  and  marched  him  straightway  to  the  fire  where 
Clark  stood. 

They  had  seen  the  Colonel  angry  before,  but  now  they 


THE  HAIR   BUYER   TRAPPED  239 

were  fairly  withered  under  his  wrath.  And  he  could  have 
given  them  no  greater  punishment,  for  he  took  them  from 
the  firing  line,  and  sent  them  back  to  wait  among  the 
reserves  until  the  morning. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu!"  said  Maisonville,  wrathfully,  as  he 
watched  them  go,  "  they  should  hang." 

"  The  stuff  that  brought  them  here  through  ice  and 
flood  is  apt  to  boil  over,  Captain,"  remarked  the  Colonel, 
dryly. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they  did  not  mean  to  cut 
him,  but  he  wriggled." 

Clark  turned  sharply. 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  he,  "  did  you  have  a  hand  in  this,  too  ?  " 

" Peste!"  cried  the  Captain,  "the  little  ferret  —  you 
call  him  —  he  find  me  on  the  prairie.  I  run  to  catch  him 
with  some  men  and  fall  into  the  crick  — "  he  pointed  to 
his  soaked  leggings,  "  and  your  demons,  they  fall  on  top 
of  me." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  you  had  caught  Lamothe  instead, 
Davy,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  joined  despite  himself  in  the 
laugh  that  went  up.  Falling  sober  again,  he  began  to 
question  the  prisoner.  Where  was  Lamothe?  Pardieu, 
Maisonville  could  not  say.  How  many  men  did  he  have, 
etc.,  etc.?  The  circle  about  us  deepened  with  eager  lis 
teners,  who  uttered  exclamations  when  Maisonville,  be 
tween  his  answers,  put  up  his  hand  to  his  bleeding  head. 
Suddenly  the  circle  parted,  and  Captain  Bowman  came 
through. 

"  Ray  has  discovered  Lamothe,  sir,"  said  he.  "  What 
shall  we  do?" 

"  Let  him  into  the  fort,"  said  Clark,  instantly. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  astonished  protest. 

"  Let  him  into  the  fort  !  "  exclaimed  Bowman. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Colonel;  "if  he  finds  he  cannot 
get  in,  he  will  be  off  before  the  dawn  to  assemble  the 
tribes." 

"But  the  fort  is  provisioned  for  a  month,"  Bowman 
expostulated;  "and  they  must  find  out  to-morrow  how 
weak  we  are." 


240  THE   CROSSING 

"To-morrow  will  be  too  late,"  said  Clark. 

"  And  suppose  he  shouldn't  go  in  ?  " 

"  He  will  go  in,"  said  the  Colonel,  quietly.     "  With 
draw  your  men,  Captain,  from  the  north  side." 

Captain  Bowman  departed.  Whatever  he  may  have 
thought  of  these  orders,  he  was  too  faithful  a  friend  of 
the  Colonel's  to  delay  their  execution.  Murmuring, 
swearing  oaths  of  astonishment,  man  after  man  on  the 
firing  line  dropped  his  rifle  at  the  word,  and  sullenly 
retreated.  The  crack,  crack  of  the  Deckards  on  the  south 
and  east  were  stilled ;  not  a  barrel  was  thrust  by  the 
weary  garrison  through  the  logs,  and  the  place  became 
silent  as  the  wilderness.  It  was  the  long  hour  before  the 
dawn.  And  as  we  lay  waiting  on  the  hard  ground,  stiff 
and  cold  and  hungry,  talking  in  whispers,  somewhere 
near  six  of  the  clock  oh  that  February  morning  the  great 
square  of  Fort  Sackville  began  to  take  shape.  There  was 
the  long  line  of  the  stockade,  the  projecting  blockhouses 
at  each  corner  with  peaked  caps,  and  a  higher  capped 
square  tower  from  the  centre  of  the  enclosure,  the  ban 
ner  of  England  drooping  there  and  clinging  forlorn  to  ita 
staff,  as  though  with  a  presentiment.  Then,  as  the  light 
grew,  the  close-lipped  casements  were  seen,  scarred  with 
our  bullets.  The  little  log  houses  of  the  town  came  out, 
the  sapling  palings  and  the  bare  trees,  —  all  grim  and 
gaunt  at  that  cruel  season.  Cattle  lowed  here  and  there, 
and  horses  whinnied  to  be  fed. 

It  was  a  dirty,  gray  dawn,  and  we  waited  until  it  had 
done  its  best.  From  where  we  lay  hid  behind  log  house 
and  palings  we  strained  our  eyes  towards  the  prairie  to  see 
if  Lamothe  would  take  the  bait,  until  our  view  was  ended 
at  the  fuzzy  top  of  a  hillock.  Bill  Cowan,  doubled  up 
behind  a  woodpile  and  breathing  heavily,  nudged  me. 

"  Davy,  Davy,  what  d'ye  see  !  " 

Was  it  a  head  that  broke  the  line  of  the  crest  ?  Even 
as  I  stared,  breathless,  half  a  score  of  forms  shot  up  and 
were  running  madly  for  the  stockade.  Twenty  more 
broke  after  them,  Indians  and  Frenchmen,  dodging,  sway 
ing,  crowding,  looking  fearfully  to  right  and  left.  And 


THE  HAIR  BUYER  TRAPPED  241 

from  within  the  fort  came  forth  a  hubbub,  —  cries  and 
scuffling,  orders,  oaths,  and  shouts.  In  plain  view  of  our 
impatient  Deckards  soldiers  manned  the  platform,  and  we 
saw  that  they  were  flinging  down  ladders.  An  officer  in 
a  faded  scarlet  coat  stood  out  among  the  rest,  shouting 
himself  hoarse.  Involuntarily  Cowan  lined  his  sights 
across  the  woodpile  on  this  mark  of  color. 

Lamothe's  men,  a  seething  mass,  were  fighting  like 
wolves  for  the  ladders,  fearful  yet  that  a  volley  might 
kill  half  of  them  where  they  stood.  And  so  fast  did  they 
scramble  upwards  that  the  men  before  them  stepped  on 
their  fingers.  All  at  once  and  by  acclamation  the  fierce 
war-whoops  of  our  men  rent  the  air,  and  some  toppled  in 
sheer  terror  and  fell  the  twelve  feet  of  the  stockade  at 
the  sound  of  it.  Then  every  man  in  the  regiment,  Creole 
and  backwoodsman,  lay  back  to  laugh.  The  answer  of 
the  garrison  was  a  defiant  cheer,  and  those  who  had 
dropped,  finding  they  were  not  shot  at,  picked  themselves 
up  again  and  gained  the  top,  helping  to  pull  the  ladders 
after  them.  Bowman's  men  swung  back  into  place,  the 
rattle  and  drag  were  heard  in  the  blockhouse  as  the  can 
non  were  run  out  through  the  ports,  and  the  battle  which 
had  held  through  the  night  watches  began  again  with  re 
doubled  vigor.  But  there  was  more  caution  on  the  side  of 
the  British,  for  they  had  learned  dearly  how  the  Ken- 
tuckians  could  measure  crack  and  crevice. 

There  followed  two  hours  and  a  futile  waste  of  ammu 
nition,  the  lead  from  the  garrison  flying  harmless  here 
and  there,  and  not  a  patch  of  skin  or  cloth  showing. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE   CAMPAIGN   ENDS 

"If  I  am  obliged  to  storm,  you  may  depend  upon  such 
treatment  as  is  justly  due  to  a  murderer.  And  beware  of 
destroying  stores  of  any  kind,  or  any  papers  or  letters  that 
are  in  your  possession  ;  or  of  hurting  one  house  in  the  town. 
For,  by  Heaven  I  if  you  do,  there  shall  be  no  mercy  shown 
you. 

"  To  Lieutenant- Grovernor  Hamilton." 

So  read  Colonel  Clark,  as  he  stood  before  the  log  fire 
in  Monsieur  Bouton's  house  at  the  back  of  the  town,  the 
captains  grouped  in  front  of  him. 

"Is  that  strong  enough,  gentlemen?"  he  asked. 

"  To  raise  his  hair,"  said  Captain  Charleville. 

Captain  Bowman  laughed  loudly. 

"  I  reckon  the  boys  will  see  to  that,"  said  he. 

Colonel  Clark  folded  the  letter,  addressed  it,  and  turned 
gravely  to  Monsieur  Bouton. 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "  by  taking  this  to 
Governor  Hamilton.  You  will  be  provided  with  a  flag  of 
truce." 

Monsieur  Bouton  was  a  round  little  man,  as  his  name 
suggested,  and  the  men  cheered  him  as  he  strode  soberly 
up  the  street,  a  piece  of  sheeting  tied  to  a  sapling  and 
flung  over  his  shoulder.  Through  such  humble  agencies 
are  the  ends  of  Providence  accomplished.  Monsieur 
Bouton  walked  up  to  the  gate,  disappeared  sidewise 
through  the  postern,  and  we  sat  down  to  breakfast.  In 
a  very  short  time  Monsieur  Bouton  was  seen  coming  back, 
and  his  face  was  not  so  impassive  that  the  governor's 
message  could  not  be  read  thereon. 

242 


THE   CAMPAIGN  ENDS  243 

"  'Tis  not  a  love-letter  he  has,  I'll  warrant,"  said 
Terence,  as  the  little  man  disappeared  into  the  house. 
So  accurately  had  Monsieur  Bouton's  face  betrayed  the 
news  that  the  men  went  back  to  their  posts  without 
orders,  some  with  half  a  breakfast  in  hand.  And  soon 
the  rank  and  file  had  the  message. 

"  Lieutenant-  Q-overnor  Hamilton  begs  leave  to  acquaint 
Colonel  Clark  that  he  and  his  garrison  are  not  disposed  to  be 
awed  into  any  action  unworthy  of  British  subjects." 

Our  men  had  eaten,  their  enemy  was  within  their  grasp, 
and  Clark  and  all  his  officers  could  scarce  keep  them  from 
storming.  Such  was  the  deadliness  of  their  aim  that 
scarce  a  shot  came  back,  and  time  and  again  I  saw  men 
fling  themselves  in  front  of  the  breastworks  with  a  war- 
whoop,  wave  their  rifles  in  the  air,  and  cry  out  that  they 
would  have  the  Ha'r  Buyer's  sculp  before  night  should 
fall.  It  could  not  last.  Not  tuned  to  the  nicer  courtesies 
of  warfare,  the  memory  of  Hamilton's  war  parties,  of 
blackened  homes,  of  families  dead  and  missing,  raged  un- 
appeased.  These  were  not  content  to  leave  vengeance  in 
the  Lord's  hands,  and  when  a  white  flag  peeped  timorously 
above  the  gate  a  great  yell  of  derision  went  up  from  river- 
bank  to  river-bank.  Out  of  the  postern  stepped  the  officer 
with  the  faded  scarlet  coat,  and  in  due  time  went  back 
again,  haughtily,  his  head  high,  casting  contempt  right 
and  left  of  him.  Again  the  postern  opened,  and  this  time 
there  was  a  cheer  at  sight  of  a  man  in  hunting  shirt  and 
leggings  and  coonskin  cap.  After  him  came  a  certain 
Major  Hay,  Indian-enticer  of  detested  memory,  the  lieu 
tenant  of  him  who  followed — the  Hair  Buyer  himself. 
A  murmur  of  hatred  arose  from  the  men  stationed  there, 
and  many  would  have  shot  him  where  he  stood  but  for 
Clark. 

"  The  devil  has  the  grit,"  said  Cowan,  though  his  eyes 
blazed. 

It  was  the  involuntary  tribute.  Lieutenant-Governor 
Hamilton  stared  indifferently  at  the  glowering  back 
woodsmen  as  he  walked  the  few  steps  to  the  church. 


244  THE  CROSSING 

Not  so  Major  Hay.  His  eyes  fell.  There  was  Colonel 
Clark  waiting  at  the  door  through  which  the  good  Creoles 
had  been  wont  to  go  to  worship,  bowing  somewhat  ironi 
cally  to  the  British  General.  It  was  a  strange  meeting 
they  had  in  St.  Xavier's,  by  the  light  of  the  candles  on 
the  altar.  Hot  words  passed  in  that  house  of  peace,  the 
General  demanding  protection  for  all  his  men,  and  our 
Colonel  replying  that  he  would  do  with  the  Indian  par 
tisans  as  he  chose. 

"  And  whom  mean  you  by  Indian  partisans  ?  "  the  un 
daunted  governor  had  demanded. 

"  I  take  Major  Hay  to  be  one  of  them,"  our  Colonel  had 
answered. 

It  was  soon  a  matter  of  common  report  how  Clark  had 
gazed  fixedly  at  the  Major  when  he  said  this,  and  how  the 
Major  turned  pale  and  trembled.  With  our  own  eyes  we 
saw  them  coming  out,  Major  Hay  as  near  to  staggering 
as  a  man  could  be,  the  governor  blushing  red  for  shame 
of  him.  So  they  went  sorrowfully  back  to  the  gate. 

Colonel  Clark  stood  at  the  steps  of  the  church,  looking 
after  them. 

"  What  was  that  firing  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  "  I 
gave  orders  for  a  truce." 

We  who  stood  by  the  church  had  indeed  heard  firing  in 
the  direction  of  the  hills  east  of  the  town,  and  had  won 
dered  thereat.  Perceiving  a  crowd  gathered  at  the  far 
end  of  the  street,  we  all  ran  thither  save  the  Colonel,  who 
directed  to  have  the  offenders  brought  to  him  at  Monsieur 
Bouton's.  We  met  the  news  halfway.  A  party  of  Cana 
dians  and  Indians  had  just  returned  from  the  Falls  of 
the  Ohio  with  scalps  they  had  taken.  Captain  Williams 
had  gone  out  with  his  company  to  meet  them,  had  lured 
them  on,  and  finally  had  killed  a  number  and  was  return 
ing  with  the  prisoners.  Yes,  here  they  were !  Williams 
himself  walked  ahead  with  two  dishevelled  and  frightened 
coureurs  du  bois,  twoscore  at  least  of  the  townspeople  of 
Vincennes,  friends  and  relatives  of  the  prisoners,  pressing 
about  and  crying  out  to  Williams  to  have  mercy  on  them. 
As  for  Williams,  he  took  them  in  to  the  Colonel,  the  towns- 


THE  CAMPAIGN  ENDS  245 

people  pressing  into  the  door-yard  and  banking  in  front  of 
it  on  the  street.  Behind  all  a  tragedy  impended,  nor  can 
I  think  of  it  now  without  sickening. 

The  frightened  Creoles  in  the  street  gave  back  against 
the  fence,  and  from  behind  them,  issuing  as  a  storm-cloud, 
came  the  half  of  Williams'  company,  yelling  like  madmen. 
Pushed  and  jostled  ahead  of  them  were  four  Indians, 
decked  and  feathered,  the  half-dried  scalps  dangling  from 
their  belts,  impassive,  true  to  their  creed  despite  the 
indignity  of  jolts  and  jars  and  blows.  On  and  on  pressed 
the  mob,  gathering  recruits  at  every  corner,  and  when 
they  reached  St.  Xavier's  before  the  fort  half  the  regi 
ment  was  there.  Others  watched,  too,  from  the  stockade, 
and  what  they  saw  made  their  knees  smite  together  with 
fear.  Here  were  four  bronzed  statues  in  a  row  across  the 
street,  the  space  in  front  of  them  clear  that  their  partisans 
in  the  fort  might  look  and  consider.  What  was  passing 
in  the  savage  mind  no  man  might  know.  Not  a  lip 
trembled  nor  an  eye  faltered  when  a  backwoodsman,  his 
memory  aflame  at  sight  of  the  pitiful  white  scalps  on  their 
belts,  thrust  through  the  crowd  to  curse  them.  Fletcher 
Blount,  frenzied,  snatched  his  tomahawk  from  his  side. 

"  Sink,  varmint ! "  he  cried  with  a  great  oath.  "  By  the 
etarnal !  we'll  pay  the  H'ar  Buyer  in  his  own  coin.  Sound 
your  drums  !  "  he  shouted  at  the  fort.  "  Call  the  garrison 
fer  the  show." 

He  had  raised  his  arm  and  turned  to  strike  when  the 
savage  put  up  his  hand,  not  in  entreaty,  but  as  one  man 
demanding  a  right  from  another.  The  cries,  the  curses, 
the  murmurs  even,  were  hushed.  Throwing  back  his 
head,  arching  his  chest,  the  notes  of  a  song  rose  in  the 
heavy  air.  Wild,  strange  notes  they  were,  that  struck 
vibrant  chords  in  my  own  quivering  being,  and  the  song 
was  the  death-song.  Ay,  and  the  life-song  of  a  soul 
which  had  come  into  the  world  even  as  mine  own.  And 
somewhere  there  lay  in  the  song,  half  revealed,  the  awful 
mystery  of  that  Creator  Whom  the  soul  leaped  forth  to 
meet  :  the  myriad  green  of  the  sun  playing  with  the 
leaves,  the  fish  swimming  lazily  in  the  brown  pool,  the 


246  THE  CROSSING 

doe  grazing  in  the  thicket,  and  a  naked  boy  as  free  from 
care  as  these  ;  and  still  the  life  grows  brighter  as  strength 
comes,  and  stature,  and  power  over  man  and  beast ;  and 
then,  God  knows  what  memories  of  fierce  love  and  fiercer 
wars  and  triumphs,  of  desires  gained  and  enemies  con 
quered,  —  God,  who  has  made  all  lives  akin  to  something 
which  He  holds  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  ;  and  then  — 
the  rain  beating  on  the  forest  crown,  beating,  beating, 
beating. 

The  song  ceased.  The  Indian  knelt  in  the  black 
mud,  not  at  the  feet  of  Fletcher  Blount,  but  on  the 
threshold  of  the  Great  Spirit  who  ruleth  all  things. 
The  axe  fell,  yet  he  uttered  no  cry  as  he  went  before  his 
Master. 

So  the  four  sang,  each  in  turn,  and  died  in  the  sight  of 
some  who  pitied,  and  some  who  feared,  and  some  who 
hated,  for  the  sake  of  land  and  women.  So  the  four  went 
beyond  the  power  of  gold  and  gewgaw,  and  were  dragged 
in  the  mire  around  the  walls  and  flung  into  the  yellow 

j;     ,  i  J 

waters  or  the  river. 

Through  the  dreary  afternoon  the  men  lounged  about 
and  cursed  the  parley,  and  hearkened  for  the  tattoo,  — 
the  signal  agreed  upon  by  the  leaders  to  begin  the  fight 
ing.  There  had  been  no  command  against  taunts  and 
jeers,  and  they  gathered  in  groups  under  the  walls  to 
indulge  themselves,  and  even  tried  to  bribe  me  as  I  sat 
braced  against  a  house  with  my  drum  between  my  knees 
and  the  sticks  clutched  tightly  in  my  hands. 

"  Here's  a  Spanish  dollar  for  a  couple  o'  taps,  Davy," 
shouted  Jack  Terrell. 

"  Come  on,  ye  pack  of  Rebel  cutthroats  !  "  yelled  a  man 
on  the  wall. 

He  was  answered  by  a  torrent  of  imprecations.  And  so 
they  flung  it  back  and  forth  until  nightfall,  when  out 
comes  the  same  faded-scarlet  officer,  holding  a  letter  in  his 
hand,  and  marches  down  the  street  to  Monsieur  Bouton's. 
There  would  be  no  storming  now,  nor  any  man  suffered 
to  lay  fingers  on  the  Hair  Buyer. 


THE  CAMPAIGN  ENDS  247 

I  remember,  in  particular,  Hamilton  the  Hair  Buyer. 
Not  the  fiend  my  imagination  had  depicted  (I  have  since 
learned  that  most  villains  do  not  look  the  part),  but  a  man 
with  a  great  sorrow  stamped  upon  his  face.  The  sun  rose 
on  that  25th  of  February,  and  the  mud  melted,  and 
one  of  our  companies  drew  up  on  each  side  of  the  gate. 
Downward  slid  the  lion  of  England,  the  garrison  drums 
beat  a  dirge,  and  the  Hair  Buyer  marched  out  at  the  head 
of  his  motley  troops. 

Then  came  my  own  greatest  hour.  All  morning  I  had 
been  polishing  and  tightening  the  drum,  and  my  pride 
was  so  great  as  we  fell  into  line  that  so  much  as  a  smile 
could  not  be  got  out  of  me.  Picture  it  all  :  Vincennes  in 
black  and  white  by  reason  of  the  bright  day ;  eaves  and 
gables,  stockade  line  and  capped  towers,  sharply  drawn, 
and  straight  above  theje  a  stark  flagstaff  waiting  for  our 
colors  ;  pigs  and  fowls  straying  hither  and  thither,  un 
mindful  that  this  day  is  red  on  the  calendar.  Ah  !  here 
is  a  bit  of  color,  too,  —  the  villagers  on  the  side  streets  to 
see  the  spectacle.  Gray  wools  and  gayer  handkerchiefs 
there,  amid  the  joyous,  cheering  crowd  of  thrice-changed 
nationality. 

"  Vive  tes  Bostonnais !  Vive  les  Am^ricainsf  Vive  Mon 
sieur  le  Colonel  Clark!  Vive  le  petit  tambour  /" 

"  Vive  le  petit  tambour  !  "  That  was  the  drummer  boy, 
stepping  proudly  behind  the  Colonel  himself,  with  a  soul 
lifted  high  above  mire  and  puddle  into  the  blue  above. 
There  was  laughter  amongst  the  giants  behind  me,  and 
Cowan  saying  softly,  as  wban  we  left  Kaskaskia,  "Go  it, 
Davy,  my  little  gamecock  !  "  And  the  whisper  of  it  was 
repeated  among  the  ranks  drawn  up  by  the  gate. 

Yes,  here  was  the  gate,  and  now  we  were  in  the  fort, 
and  an  empire  was  gained,  never  to  be  lost  again.  The 
Stars  and  Stripes  climbed  the  staff,  and  the  folds  were 
caught  by  an  eager  breeze.  Thirteen  cannon  thundered 
from  the  blockhouses  —  one  for  each  colony  that  had 
braved  a  king. 

There,  in  the  miry  square  within  the  Vincennes  fort, 
thin  and  bronzed  and  travel-stained,  were  the  men  who 


248  THE  CROSSING 

had  dared  the  wilderness  in  ugliest  mood.  And  yet  none 
by  himself  would  have  done  it  —  each  had  come  here  com 
pelled  by  a  spirit  stronger  than  his  own,  by  a  master  mind 
that  laughed  at  the  body  and  its  ailments. 

Colonel  George  Rogers  Clark  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
square,  under  the  flag  to  whose  renown  he  had  added 
three  stars.  Straight  he  was,  and  square,  and  self-con 
tained.  No  weakening  tremor  of  exultation  softened  his 
face  as  he  looked  upon  the  men  by  whose  endurance  he 
had  been  able  to  do  this  thing.  He  waited  until  the 
white  smoke  of  the  last  gun  had  drifted  away  on  the 
breeze,  until  the  snapping  of  the  flag  and  the  distant  vil 
lage  sounds  alone  broke  the  stillness. 

"  We  have  not  suffered  all  things  for  a  reward,"  he 
said,  "  but  because  a  righteous  cause  may  grow.  And 
though  our  names  may  be  forgotten,  our  deeds  will  be 
remembered.  We  have  conquered  a  vast  land  that  our 
children  and  our  children's  children  may  be  freed  from 
tyranny,  and  we  have  brought  a  just  vengeance  upon  our 
enemies.  I  thank  you,  one  and  all,  in  the  name  of  the 
Continental  Congress  and  of  that  Commonwealth  of  Vir 
ginia  for  which  you  have  fought.  You  are  no  longer 
Virginians,  Kentuckians,  Kaskaskians,  and  Cahokians  — 
you  are  Americans." 

He  paused,  and  we  were  silent.  Though  his  words 
moved  us  strongly,  they  were  beyond  us. 

"I  mention  no  deeds  of  heroism,  of  unselfishness,  of 
lives  saved  at  the  peril  of  others.  But  I  am  the  debtor 
of  every  man  here  for  the  years  to  come  to  see  that  he 
and  his  family  have  justice  from  the  Commonwealth  and 
the  nation." 

Again  he  stopped,  and  it  seemed  to  us  watching  that  he 
smiled  a  little. 

"  I  shall  name  one,"  he  said,  "  one  who  never  lagged, 
who  never  complained,  who  starved  that  the  weak  might 
be  fed  and  walk.  David  Ritchie,  come  here." 

I  trembled,  my  teeth  chattered  as  the  water  had  never 
made  them  chatter.  I  believe  I  should  have  fallen  but 
for  Tom,  who  reached  out  from  the  ranks.  I  stumbled 


THE  CAMPAIGN  ENDS  249 

forward  in  a  daze  to  where  the  Colonel  stood,  and  the 
cheering  from  the  ranks  was  a  thing  beyond  me.  The 
Colonel's  hand  on  my  head  brought  me  to  my  senses. 

"  David  Ritchie,"  he  said,  "  I  give  you  publicly  the 
thanks  of  the  regiment.  The  parade  is  dismissed." 

The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  on  Cowan's  shoulders,  and 
he  was  tearing  round  and  round  the  fort  with  two  com 
panies  at  his  heels. 

"  The  divil,"  said  Terence  McCann,  "  he  dhrummed  'us 
over  the  wather,  an'  through  the  wather ;  and  faix,  he 
would  have  dhrummed  the  sculp  from  Hamilton's  head 
and  the  Colonel  had  said  the  worrd." 

"  By  gar  !  "  cried  Antoine  le  6rrts,  "  now  he  drum  us  on 
to  Detroit." 

Out  of  the  gate  rushed  Cowan,  the  frightened  villagers 
scattering  right  and  left.  Antoine  had  a  friend  who  lived 
in  this  street,  and  in  ten  minutes  there  was  rum  in  the 
powder-horns,  and  the  toast  was  "  On  to  Detroit  !  " 

Colonel  Clark  was  sitting  alone  in  the  commanding 
officer's  room  of  the  garrison.  And  the  afternoon  sun, 
slanting  through  the  square  of  the  window,  fell  upon  the 
maps  and  papers  before  him.  He  had  sent  for  me.  I 
halted  in  sheer  embarrassment  on  the  threshold,  looked  up 
at  his  face,  and  came  on,  troubled. 

"  Davy,"  he  said,  "  do  you  want  to  go  back  to 
Kentucky  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  stay  to  the  end,  Colonel,"  I 
answered. 

"  The  end  ?  "  he  said.    "  This  is  the  end." 

"  And  Detroit,  sir?"  I  returned. 

"Detroit  !  "  he  cried  bitterly,  "a  man  of  sense  measures 
his  force,  and  does  not  try  the  impossible.  I  could  as 
soon  march  against  Philadelphia.  This  is  the  end,  I  say  ; 
and  the  general  must  give  way  to  the  politician.  And 
may  God  have  mercy  on  the  politician  who  will  try  to 
keep  a  people's  affection  without  money  or  help  from 
Congress." 

He  fell  back  wearily  in  his  chair,  while  I  stood  aston- 


250  THE  CROSSING 

ished,  wondering.  I  had  thought  to  find  him  elated  with 
victory. 

"  Congress  or  Virginia,"  said  he,  "  will  have  to  pay 
Monsieur  Vigo,  and  Father  Gibault,  and  Monsieur  Gratiot, 
and  the  other  good  people  who  have  trusted  me.  Do  you 
think  they  will  do  so  ?  " 

"  The  Congress  are  far  from  here,"  I  said. 

"  Ay,"  he  answered,  "  too  far  to  care  about  you  and  me, 
and  what  we  have  suffered." 

He  ended  abruptly,  and  sat  for  a  while  staring  out  of 
the  window  at  the  figures  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
muddy  parade-ground. 

"Tom  McChesney  goes  to-night  to  Kentucky  with 
letters  to  the  county  lieutenant.  You  are  to  go  with 
him,  and  then  I  shall  have  no  one  to  remind  me  when  I 
am  hungry,  and  bring  me  hoininy.  I  shall  have  no  finan 
cier,  no  strategist  for  a  tight  place."  He  smiled  a  little, 
sadly,  at  my  sorrowful  look,  and  then  drew  me  to  him  and 
patted  my  shoulder.  "  It  is  no  place  for  a  young  lad,  — 
an  idle  garrison.  I  think,"  he  continued  presently,  "  I 
think  you  have  a  future,  David,  if  you  do  not  lose  your 
head.  Kentucky  will  grow  and  conquer,  and  in  twenty 
years  be  a  thriving  community.  And  presently  you  will 
go  to  Virginia,  and  study  law,  and  come  back  again.  Do 
you  hear  ?  " 

"Yes,  Colonel." 

"  And  I  would  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  he,  with  force  ; 
"  serve  the  people,  as  all  true  men  should  in  a  republic. 
But  do  not  rely  upon  their  gratitude.  You  will  remember 
that?" 

"  Yes,  Colonel." 

A  long  time  he  paused,  looking  on  me  with  a  signifi 
cance  I  did  not  then  understand.  And  when  he  spoke 
again  his  voice  showed  no  trace  of  emotion,  save  in  the 
note  of  it. 

"  You  have  been  a  faithful  friend,  Davy,  when  I  needed 
loyalty.  Perhaps  the  time  may  come  again.  Promise 
me  that  you  will  not  forget  me  if  I  am  —  unfortunate." 

"  Unfortunate,  sir  1  "  I  exclaimed. 


THE   CAMPAIGN  ENDS  251 

"  Good-by,  Davy,"  he  said,  "  and  God  bless  you.  I  have 
work  to  do." 

Still  I  hesitated.      He  stared  at  me,  but  with  kindness. 

"What  is  it,  Davy?"  he  asked. 

"  Please,  sir,"  I  said,  "  if  I  might  take  my  drum  ?  " 

At  that  he  laughed. 

"You  may,"  said  he,  "you  may.  Perchance  we  may 
need  it  again." 

I  went  out  from  his  presence,  vaguely  troubled,  to  find 
Tom.  And  before  the  early  sun  had  set  we  were  gliding 
down  the  Wabash  in  a  canoe,  past  places  forever  dedicated 
to  our  agonies,  towards  Kentucky  and  Polly  Ann. 

"  Dav}',"  said  Tom,  "  I  reckon  she'll  be  standin'  under 
the  'simmon  tree,  waitin'  fer  us  with  the  little  shaver  in 
her  arms." 

And  so  she  was. 


BOOK  H 

FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM 
CHAPTER   I 

IN   THE   CABIN 

THE  Eden  of  one  man  may  be  the  Inferno  of  his  neigh 
bor,  and  now  I  am  to  throw  to  the  winds,  like  leaves  of  a 
worthless  manuscript,  some  years  of  time,  and  introduce 
you  to  a  new  Kentucky,  —  a  Kentucky  that  was  not  for 
the  pioneer.  One  page  of  this  manuscript  might  have 
told  of  a  fearful  winter,  when  the  snow  lay  in  great  drifts 
in  the  bare  woods,  when  Tom  and  I  fashioned  canoes  or 
noggins  out  of  the  great  roots,  when  a  new  and  feminine 
bit  of  humanity  cried  in  the  bark  cradle,  and  Polly  Ann 
sewed  deer  leather.  Another  page  —  nay,  a  dozen  —  could 
be  filled  with  Indian  horrors,  ambuscades  and  massacres. 
And  also  I  might  have  told  how  there  drifted  into  this  land, 
hitherto  unsoiled,  the  refuse  cast  off  by  the  older  colonies. 
I  must  add  quickly  that  we  got  more  than  our  share 
of  their  best  stock  along  with  this. 

No  sooner  had  the  sun  begun  to  pit  the  snow  hillocks 
than  wild  creatures  came  in  from  the  mountains,  haggard 
with  hunger  and  hardship.  They  had  left  their  homes  in 
Virginia  and  the  Carolinas  in  the  autumn  ;  an  unheralded 
winter  of  Arctic  fierceness  had  caught  them  in  its  grip. 
Bitter  tales  they  told  of  wives  and  children  buried  among 
the  rocks.  Fast  on  the  heels  of  these  wretched  ones 
trooped  the  spring  settlers  in  droves  ;  and  I  have  seen 
whole  churches  march  singing  into  the  forts,  the  preacher 

252 


IN  THE   CABIN  253 

leading,  and  thanking  God  loudly  that  He  had  delivered 
them  from  the  wilderness  and  the  sa-vage.  The  little 
forts  would  not  hold  them  ;  and  they  went  out  to  hew 
clearings  from  the  forest,  and  to  build  cabins  and  stock 
ades.  And  our  own  people,  starved  and  snowbound,  went 
out  likewise,  —  Tom  and  Polly  Ann  and  their  little  family 
and  myself  to  the  farm  at  the  river-side.  And  Avhile  the 
water  flowed  between  the  stumps  over  the  black  land,  we 
planted  and  ploughed  and  prayed,  always  alert,  watching 
north  and  south,  against  the  coming  of  the  Indians. 

But  Tom  was  no  husbandman.  He  and  his  kind  were 
the  scouts,  the  advance  guard  of  civilization,  not  tillers 
of  the  soil  or  lovers  of  close  communities.  Farther  and 
farther  they  went  afield  for  game,  and  always  they  grum 
bled  sorely  against  this  horde  which  had  driven  the  deer 
from  his  cover  and  the  buffalo  from  his  wallow. 

Looking  back,  I  can  recall  one  evening  when  the  long 
summer  twilight  lingered  to  a  close.  Tom  was  lounging 
lazily  against  the  big  persimmon  tree,  smoking  his  pipe, 
the  two  children  digging  at  the  roots,  and  Polly  Ann, 
seated  on  the  door-log,  sewing.  As  I  drew  near,  she 
looked  up  at  me  from  her  work.  She  was  a  woman  upon 
whose  eternal  freshness  industry  made  no  mar. 

"  Davy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  ye've  growed!  I  thought 
ye'd  be  a  wizened  little  body,  but  this  year  ye've  shot  up 
like  a  cornstalk. '' 

"  My  father  was  six  feet  two  inches  in  his  moccasins," 
I  said. 

"  He'll  be  wallopin'  me  soon,"  said  Tom,  with  a  grin. 
He  took  a  long  whiff  at  his  pipe,  and  added  thoughtfully, 
"  I  reckon  this  ain't  no  place  fer  me  now,  with  all  the  set 
tler  folks  and  land-grabbers  comin'  through  the  Gap." 

"  Tom,"  said  I,  "  there's  a  bit  of  a  fall  on  the  river  here." 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  and  nary  a  fish  left." 

"Something  better,"  I  answered;  "we'll  put  a  dam 
there  and  a  mill  and  a  hominy  pounder." 

"  And  make  our  fortune  grinding  corn  for  the  settlers," 
cried  Polly  Ann,  showing  a  line  of  very  white  teeth.  "  I 
always  said  ye'd  be  a  rich  man,  Davy." 


254  THE  CROSSING 

Tom  was  mildly  interested,  and  went  with  us  at  day 
light  to  measure  the  fall.  And  he  allowed  that  he  would 
have  the  more  time  to  hunt  if  the  mill  were  a  success. 
For  a  month  I  had  had  the  scheme  in  my  mind,  where 
the  dam  was  to  be  put,  the  race,  and  the  wondrous  wheel 
rimmed  with  cow  horns  to  dip  the  water.  And  fixed  on 
the  wheel  there  was  to  be  a  crank  that  worked  the  pounder 
in  the  mortar.  So  we  were  to  grind  until  I  could  arrange 
with  Mr.  Scarlett,  the  new  storekeeper  in  Harrodstown, 
to  have  two  grinding-stones  fetched  across  the  mountains. 

While  the  corn  ripened  and  the  melons  swelled  and 
the  flax  flowefed,  our  axes  rang  by  the  river's  side  ;  and 
sometimes,  as  we  worked,  Cowan  and  Terrell  and  McCann 
and  other  Long  Hunters  would  come  and  jeer  good- 
naturedly  because  we  were  turning  civilized.  Often 
they  gave  us  a  lift. 

It  was  September  when  the  millstones  arrived,  and  I 
spent  a  joyous  morning  of  final  bargaining  with  Mr. 
Myron  Scarlett.  This  Mr.  Scarlett  was  from  Connecti 
cut,  had  been  a  quartermaster  in  the  army,  and  at  much 
risk  brought  ploughs  and  hardware,  and  scissors  and 
buttons,  and  broadcloth  and  corduroy,  across  the  Alle- 
ghanies,  and  down  the  Ohio  in  flatboats.  These  he  sold 
at  great  profit.  We  had  no  money,  not  even  the  worth 
less  scrip  that  Congress  issued  ;  but  a  beaver  skin  was 
worth  eighteen  shillings,  a  bearskin  ten,  and  a  fox  or  a 
deer  or  a  wildcat  less.  Half  the  village  watched  the 
barter.  The  rest  lounged  sullenly  about  the  land  court. 

The  land  court  —  curse  of  Kentucky!  It  was  just  a 
windowless  log  house  built  outside  the  walls,  our  temple 
of  avarice.  The  case  was  this  :  Henderson  (for  whose 
company  Daniel  Boone  cut  the  wilderness  road)  believed 
that  he  had  bought  the  country,  and  issued  grants  there 
for.  Tom  held  one  of  these  grants,  alas,  and  many  others 
whom  I  knew.  Virginia  repudiated  Henderson.  Keen- 
faced  speculators  bought  acre  upon  acre  and  tract  upon 
tract  from  the  State,  and  crossed  the  mountains  to  extort. 
Claims  conflicted,  titles  lapped.  There  was  the  court  set 
in  the  sunlight  in  the  midst  of  a  fair  land,  held  by  the 


IN  THE   CABIN  255 

shameless,  thronged  day  after  day  by  the  homeless  and 
the  needy,  jostling,  quarrelling,  beseeching.  Even  as  I 
looked  upon  this  strife  a  man  stood  beside  me. 

"  Drat  'em,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  watched  a  hawk- 
eyed  extortioner  in  drab,  for  these  did  not  condescend  to 
hunting  shirts,  "  drat  'em,  ef  I  had  my  way  I'd  wring  the 
neck  of  every  mother's  son  of  'em." 

I  turned  with  a  start,  and  there  was  Mr.  Daniel  Boone. 

"  Howdy,  Davy,"  he  said  ;  "  ye've  growed  some  sence 
ye've  ben  with  Clark."  He  paused,  and  then  continued  in 
the  same  strain  :  "  'Tis  the  same  at  Boonesboro  and  up 
thar  at  the  Falls  settlement.  The  critters  is  everywhar, 
robbin'  men  of  their  claims.  Davy,"  said  Mr.  Boone, 
earnestly,  "  you  know  that  I  come  into  Kaintuckee  when 
it  waren't  nothin'  but  wilderness,  and  resked  my  life  time 
and  again.  Them  varmints  is  wuss'n  redskins,  —  they've 
robbed  me  already  of  half  my  claims." 

"Robbed  you!  "  I  exclaimed,  indignant  that  he,  of  all 
men,  should  suffer. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  robbed  me.  They've  took  one  claim 
after  another,  tracts  that  I  staked  out  long  afore  they 
heerd  of  Kaintuckee."  He  rubbed  his  rifle  barrel  with 
his  buckskin  sleeve.  "  I  get  a  little  for  my  skins,  and  a 
little  by  surveyin'.  But  when  the  game  goes  I  reckon 
I'll  go  after  it." 

"  V;  here,  Mr.  Boone  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Whar  ?  whar  the  varmints  cyant  foller.  Acrost  the 
Mississippi  into  the  Spanish  wilderness." 

"  And  leave  Kentucky  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Davy,"  he  answered  sadly,  "  you  kin  cope  with  'em. 
They  tell  me  you're  buildin'  a  mill  up  at  McChesney's,  and 
I  reckon  you're  as  cute  as  any  of  'em.  They  beat  me. 
I'm  good  for  nothin'  but  shootin'  and  explorin'." 

We  stood  silent  for  a  while,  our  attention  caught  by  a 
quarrel  which  had  suddenly  come  out  of  the  doorway. 
One  of  the  men  was  Jim  Willis,  — my  friend  of  Clark's 
campaign,  —  who  had  a  Henderson  claim  near  Shawanee 
Springs.  The  other  was  the  hawk-eyed  man  of  whom 
Mr.  Boone  had  spoken,  and  fragments  of  their  curses 


256  THE  CROSSING 

reached  us  where  we  stood.  The  hunting  shirts  surged 
around  them,  alert  now  at  the  prospect  of  a  fight ;  men 
came  running  in  from  all  directions,  and  shouts  of  "  Hang 
him  !  Tomahawk  him  !  "  were  heard  on  every  side.  Mr. 
Boone  did  not  move.  It  was  a  common  enough  spectacle 
for  him,  and  he  was  not  excitable.  Moreover,  he  knew 
that  the  death  of  one  extortioner  more  or  less  would  have 
no  effect  on  the  system.  They  had  become  as  the  fowls 
of  the  air. 

"  I  was  acrost  the  mountain  last  month,"  said  Mr. 
Boone,  presently,  "and  one  of  them  skunks  had  stole 
Campbell's  silver  spoons  at  Abiugdon.  Campbell  was  out 
arter  him  for  a  week  with  a  coil  of  rope  on  his  saddle. 
But  the  varmint  got  to  cover." 

Mr.  Boone  wished  me  luck  in  my  new  enterprise,  bade 
me  good-by,  and  set  out  for  Redstone,  where  he  was  to 
measure  a  tract  for  a  Revolutioner.  The  speculator  hav 
ing  been  rescued  from  Jim  Willis's  clutches  by  the  sheriff, 
the  crowd  good-naturedly  helped  us  load  our  stones  be 
tween  pack-horses,  and  some  of  them  followed  us  all  the 
way  home  that  they  might  see  the  grinding.  Half  of 
McAfee's  new  station  bad  heard  the  news,  and  came  over 
likewise.  And  from  that  day  we  ground  as  much  corn  as 
could  be  brought  to  us  from  miles  around. 

Polly  Ann  and  I  ran  the  mill  and  kept  the  accounts. 
Often  of  a  crisp  autumn  morning  we  heard  a  gobble- 
gobble  above  the  tumbling  of  the  water  and  found  a 
wild  turkey  perched  on  top  of  the  hopper,  eating  his  fill. 
Some  of  our  meat  we  got  that  way.  As  for  Tom,  he  was 
off  and  on.  When  the  roving  spirit  seized  him  he  made 
journeys  to  the  westward  with  Cowan  and  Ray.  Gen 
erally  they  returned  with  packs  of  skins.  But  sometimes 
soberly,  thanking  Heaven  that  their  hair  was  left  growing 
on  their  heads.  This,  and  patrolling  the  Wilderness  Road 
and  other  militia  duties,  made  up  Tom's  life.  No  sooner 
was  the  mill  fairly  started  than  off  he  went  to  the  Cum 
berland.  I  mention  this,  not  alone  because  I  remember 
well  the  day  of  his  return,  but  because  of  a  certain  hap 
pening  then  that  had  a  heavy  influence  on  my  after  life. 


IN   THE  CABIN  257 

The  episode  deals  with  an  easy-mannered  gentleman 
named  Potts,  who  was  the  agent  for  a  certain  Major 
Colfax  of  Virginia.  Tom  owned  under  a  Henderson 
grant ;  the  Major  had  been  given  this  and  other  lands  for 
his  services  in  the  war.  Mr.  Potts  arrived  one  rainy 
afternoon  and  found  me  standing  alone  under  the  little 
lean-to  that  covered  the  hopper.  How  we  served  him, 
with  the  aid  of  McCann  and  Cowan  and  other  neighbors, 
and  how  we  were  near  getting  into  trouble  because  of  the 
prank,  will  be  seen  later.  The  next  morning  I  rode  into 
Harrodstown  not  wholly  easy  in  my  mind  concerning  the 
wisdom  of  the  thing  I  had  done.  There  was  no  one  to 
advise  me,  for  Colonel  Clark  was  far  away,  building  a  fort 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi.  Tom  had  laughed  at  the 
consequences ;  he  cared  little  about  his  land,  and  was  for 
moving  into  the  Wilderness  again.  But  for  Polly  Ann's 
sake  I  wished  that  we  had  treated  the  land  agent  less  cava 
lierly.  I  was  soon  distracted  from  these  thoughts  by  the 
sight  of  Harrodstown  itself. 

I  had  no  sooner  ridden  out  of  the  forest  shade  when  I 
saw  that  the  place  was  in  an  uproar,  men  and  women 
gathering  in  groups  and  running  here  and  there  between 
the  cabins.  Urging  on  the  mare,  I  cantered  across  the 
fields,  and  the  first  person  I  met  was  James  Ray. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Matter  enough  !  An  army  of  redskins  has  crossed  the 
Ohio,  and  not  a  man  to  take  command.  My  God,"  cried 
Ray,  pointing  angrily  at  the  swarms  about  the  land  office, 
"what  trash  we  have  got  this  last  year!  Kentucky  can 
go  to  the  devil,  half  the  stations  be  wiped  out,  and  not  a 
thrip  do  they  care." 

"  Have  you  sent  word  to  the  Colonel  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  If  he  was  here,"  said  Ray,  bitterly,  "  he'd  have  half  of 
'em  swinging  inside  of  an  hour.  I'll  warrant  he'd  send 
'em  to  the  right-about." 

I  rode  on  into  the  town,  Potts  gone  out  of  my  mind. 
Apart  from  the  land-office  crowds,  and  looking  on  in 
silent  rage,  stood  a  group  of  the  old  settlers,  —  tall,  lean, 
powerful,  yet  impotent  for  lack  of  a  leader.  A  contrast 


258  THE  CROSSING 

they  were,  these  buckskin-clad  pioneers,  to  the  ill-assorted 
humanity  they  watched,  absorbed  in  struggles  for  the 
very  lands  they  had  won. 

"  By  the  etarnal  !  "  said  Jack  Terrell,  "  if  the  yea'th 
was  ter  swaller  'em  up,  they'd  keep  011  a-dickerin'  in  hell." 

"  Something's  got  to  be  done,"  Captain  Harrod  put  in 
gloomily ;  "  the  red  varmints  '11  be  on  us  in  another  day. 
In  God's  name,  whar  is  Clark  ?  " 

"  Hold !  "  cried  Fletcher  Blount,  "  what's  that?  " 

The  broiling  about  the  land  court,  too,  was  suddenly 
hushed.  Men  stopped  in  their  tracks,  staring  fixedly  at 
three  forms  which  had  come  out  of  the  woods  into  the 
clearing. 

"  Redskins,  or  there's  no  devil !  "  said  Terrell. 

Redskins  they  were,  but  not  the  blanketed  kind  that 
drifted  every  day  through  the  station.  Their  war-paint 
gleamed  in  the  light,  and  the  white  edges  of  the 
feathered  head-dresses  caught  the  sun.  One  held  up  in 
his  right  hand  a  white  belt,  —  token  of  peace  on  the 
frontier. 

"  Lord  A'mighty !  "  said  Fletcher  Blount,  "  be  they 
Cricks?" 

"  Chickasaws,  by  the  headgear,"  said  Terrell.  "  Davy, 
you've  got  a  hoss.  Ride  out  and  look  'em  over." 

Nothing  loath,  I  put  the  mare  into  a  gallop,  and  I  passed 
over  the  very  place  where  Polly  Ann  had  picked  me  up 
and  saved  my  life  long  since.  The  Indians  came  on  at  a 
dog  trot,  but  when  they  were  within  fifty  paces  of  me  they 
halted  abruptly.  The  chief  waved  the  white  belt  around 
his  head. 

"  Davy  !  "  says  he,  and  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 
How  well  I  knew  that  voice  ! 

"  Colonel  Clark  !  "  I  cried,  and  rode  up  to  him.  "  Thank 
God  you  are  come,  sir,"  said  I,  "  for  the  people  here  are 
land-mad,  and  the  Northern  Indians  are  crossing  the 
Ohio." 

He  took  my  bridle,  and,  leading  the  horse,  began  to  walk 
rapidly  towards  the  station. 

"  Ay,"    he  answered,  "  I  know  it.     A  runner  came  to 


IN  THE   CABIN  2o9 

me  with  the  tidings,  where  I  was  building  a  fort  on  the 
Mississippi,  and  I  took  Willis  here  and  Saunders,  and 
came." 

I  glanced  at  my  old  friends,  who  grinned  at  me  through 
the  berry-stain  on  their  faces.  We  reached  a  ditch  through 
which  the  rain  of  the  night  before  was  draining  from 
the  fields.  Clark  dropped  the  bridle,  stooped  down,  and 
rubbed  his  face  clean.  Up  he  got  again  and  flung  the 
feathers  from  his  head,  and  I  thought  that  his  eyes 
twinkled  despite  the  sternness  of  his  look. 

"  Davy,  my  lad,"  said  he,  "  you  and  I  have  seen  some 
strange  things  together.  Perchance  we  shall  see  stranger 
to-day." 

A  shout  went  up,  for  he  had  been  recognized.  And 
Captain  Harrod  and  Ray  and  Terrell  and  Cowan  (who  had 
just  ridden  in)  ran  up  to  greet  him  and  press  his  hand. 
He  called  them  each  by  name,  these  men  whose  loyalty 
had  been  proved,  but  said  no  word  more  nor  paused  in  his 
stride  until  he  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  mob  about  the 
land  court.  There  he  stood  for  a  full  minute,  and  we 
who  knew  him  looked  on  silently  and  waited. 

The  turmoil  had  begun  again,  the  speculators  calling  out 
in  strident  tones,  the  settlers  bargaining  and  pushing,  and 
all  clamoring  to  be  heard.  While  there  was  money  to  be 
made  or  land  to  be  got  they  had  no  ear  for  the  public 
weal.  A  man  shouldered  his  way  through,  roughly,  and 
they  gave  back,  cursing,  surprised.  He  reached  the  door, 
and,  flinging  those  who  blocked  it  right  and  left,  entered. 
There  he  was  recognized,  and  his  name  flew  from  mouth 
to  mouth. 

"  Clark  !  " 

He  walked  up  to  the  table,  strewn  with  books  and 
deeds. 

"  Silence  !  "  he  thundered.  But  there  was  no  need,  — 
they  were  still  for  once.  "  This  court  is  closed,"  he  cried, 
"while  Kentucky  is  in  danger.  Not  a  deed  shall  be 
signed  nor  an  acre  granted  until  I  come  back  from  the 
Ohio.  Out  you  go  !  " 

Out   they  went  indeed,   judge,  brokers,  speculators  — 


260  THE  CROSSING 

the  evicted  and  the  triumphant  together.  And  when  the 
place  was  empty  Clark  turned  the  key  and  thrust  it  into 
his  hunting  shirt.  He  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  step, 
and  his  eyes  swept  the  crowd. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  there  have  been  many  to  claim  this 
land  —  who  will  follow  me  to  defend  it  ?  " 

As  I  live,  they  cheered  him.  Hands  were  flung  up 
that  were  past  counting,  and  men  who  were  barely  rested 
from  the  hardships  of  the  Wilderness  Trail  shouted  their 
readiness  to  go.  But  others  slunk  away,  and  were  found 
that  morning  grumbling  and  cursing  the  chance  that  had 
brought  them  to  Kentucky.  Within  the  hour  the  news 
had  spread  to  the  farms,  and  men  rode  in  to  Harrodstown 
to  tell  the  Colonel  of  many  who  were  leaving  the  plough 
in  the  furrow  and  the  axe  in  the  wood,  and  starting  off 
across  the  mountains  in  anger  and  fear.  The  Colonel 
turned  to  me  as  he  sat  writing  down  the  names  of  the 
volunteers. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  when  you  are  grown  you  shall  not 
stay  at  home,  I  promise  you.  Take  your  mare  and  ride  as 
for  your  life  to  McChesney,  and  tell  him  to  choose  ten 
men  and  go  to  the  Crab  Orchard  on  the  Wilderness  Road. 
Tell  him  for  me  to  turn  back  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
who  tries  to  leave  Kentucky." 

I  met  Tom  coming  in  from  the  field  with  his  rawhide 
harness  over  his  shoulders.  Polly  Ann  stood  calling  him 
in  the  door,  and  the  squirrel  broth  was  steaming  on  the 
table.  He  did  not  wait  for  it.  Kissing  her,  he  flung 
himself  into  the  saddle  I  had  left,  and  we  watched  him 
mutely  as  he  waved  back  to  us  from  the  edge  of  the  woods. 
******* 

In  the  night  I  found  myself  sitting  up  in  bed,  listening 
to  a  running  and  stamping  near  the  cabin. 

Polly  Ann  was  stirring.  "  Davy,"  she  whispered,  "  the 
stock  is  oneasy." 

We  peered  out  of  the  loophole  together  and  through 
the  little  orchard  we  had  planted.  The  moon  flooded  the 
fields,  and  beyond  it  the  forest  was  a  dark  blur.  I  can 
recall  the  scene  now,  the  rude  mill  standing  bj  the  water- 


IN   THE   CABIN  261 

side,  the  twisted  rail  fences,  and  the  black  silhouettes  of 
the  horses  and  cattle  as  they  stood  bunched  together. 
Behind  us  little  Tom  stirred  in  his  sleep  and  startled  us. 
That  very  evening  Polly  Ann  had  frightened  him  into 
obedience  by  telling  him  that  the  Shawanees  would  get 
him. 

What  was  there  to  do  ?  McAfee's  Station  was  four 
miles  away,  and  Ray's  clearing  two.  Ray  was  gone  with 
Tom.  I  could  not  leave  Polly  Ann  alone.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  wait. 

Silently,  that  the  children  might  not  be  waked  and  a 
lurking  savage  might  not  hear,  we  put  the  powder  and 
bullets  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  loaded  the  guns  and 
pistols.  For  Polly  Ann  had  learned  to  shoot.  She  took  the 
loopholes  of  two  sides  of  the  cabin,  I  of  the  other  two,  and 
then  began  the  fearful  watching  and  waiting  which  the 
frontier  knows  so  well.  Suddenly  the  cattle  stirred  again, 
and  stampeded  to  the  other  corner  of  the  field.  There 
came  a  whisper  from  Polly  Ann. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  answered,  running  over  to  her. 

"•  Look  out,"  she  said  ;  "  what  d'ye  see  near  the  mill  ?  " 

Her  sharp  eyes  had  not  deceived  her,  for  mine  perceived 
plainly  a  dark  form  skulking  in  the  hickory  grove.  Next, 
a  movement  behind  the  rail  fence,  and  darting  back  to  my 
side  of  the  house  I  made  out  a  long  black  body  wriggling 
at  the  edge  of  the  withered  corn-patch.  They  were  sur 
rounding  us.  How  I  wished  that  Tom  were  home  ! 

A  stealthy  sound  began  to  intrude  itself  upon  our  ears. 
Listening  intently,  I  thought  it  came  from  the  side  of  the 
cabin  where  the  lean-to  was,  where  we  stored  our  wood  in 
winter.  The  black  shadow  fell  on  that  side,  and  into  a 
patch  of  bushes  ;  peering  out  of  the  loophole,  I  could  per 
ceive  nothing  there.  The  noise  went  on  at  intervals. 
All  at  once  there  grew  on  me,  with  horror,  the  discovery 
that  there  was  digging  under  the  cabin. 

How  long  the  sound  continued  I  know  not,  —  it  might 
have  been  an  hour,  it  might  have  been  less.  Now  I 
thought  I  heard  it  under  the  wall,  now  beneath  the 
puncheons  of  the  floor.  The  pitchy  blackness  within 


262  THE  CROSSING 

was  such  that  we  could  not  see  the  boards  moving,  and 
therefore  we  must  needs  kneel  down  and  feel  them  from 
time  to  time.  Yes,  this  one  was  lifting  from  its  bed  on 
the  hard  earth  beneath.  I  was  sure  of  it.  It  rose  an 
inch  —  then  an  inch  more.  Gripping  the  handle  of  my 
tomahawk,  I  prayed  for  guidance  in  my  stroke,  for  the 
blade  might  go  wild  in  the  darkness.  Upward  crept  the 
board,  and  suddenly  it  was  gone  from  the  floor.  I  swung 
a  full  circle  —  and  to  my  horror  I  felt  the  axe  plunging 
into  soft  flesh  and  crunching  on  a  bone.  I  had  missed 
the  head  !  A  yell  shattered  the  night,  the  puncheon  fell 
with  a  rattle  on  the  boards,  and  my  tomahawk  was  gone 
from  my  hand.  Without,  the  fierce  war-cry  of  the  Shawa- 
nees  that  I  knew  so  well  echoed  around  the  log  walls, 
and  the  door  trembled  with  a  blow.  The  children  awoke, 
crying. 

There  was  no  time  to  think  ;  my  great  fear  was  that  the 
devil  in  the  cabin  would  kill  Polly  Ann.  Just  then  I 
heard  her  calling  out  to  me. 

"  Hide  !  "  I  cried,  "  hide  under  the  shake-down  !  Has 
he  got  you  ?  " 

I  heard  her  answer,  and  then  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  that 
maddened  me.  Knife  in  hand,  I  crept  slowly  about, 
and  put  my  fingers  on  a  man's  neck  and  side.  Next 
Polly  Ann  careened  against  me,  and  I  lost  him  again. 
"Davy,  Davy,"  I  heard  her  gasp,  "look  out  fer  the 
floor!" 

It  was  too  late.  The  puncheon  rose  under  me,  I  stum 
bled,  and  it  fell  again.  Once  more  the  awful  changing 
notes  of  the  war-whoop  sounded  without.  A  body  bumped 
on  the  boards,  a  white  light  rose  before  my  eyes,  and  a 
sharp  pain  leaped  in  my  side.  Then  all  was  black  again, 
but  I  had  my  senses  still,  and  my  fingers  closed  around 
the  knotted  muscles  of  an  arm.  I  thrust  the  pistol  in  my 
hand  against  flesh,  and  fired.  Two  of  us  fell  together,  but 
the  thought  of  Polly  Ann  got  me  staggering  to  my  feet 
again,  calling  her  name.  By  the  grace  of  God  I  heard  her 
answer. 

"  Are  ye  hurt,  Davy  ?  " 


IN  THE   CABIN  263 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  no.     And  you  ?  " 

We  drifted  together.  'Twas  she  who  had  the  presence 
of  mind. 

"  The  chest  —  quick,  the  chest !  " 

We  stumbled  over  a  body  in  reaching  it.  We  seized 
the  handles,  and  with  all  our  strength  hauled  it  athwart 
the  loose  puncheon  that  seemed  to  be  lifting  even  then. 
A  mighty  splintering  shook  the  door. 

"  To  the  ports !  "  cried  Polly  Ann,  as  our  heads  knocked 
together. 

To  find  the  rifles  and  prime  them  seemed  to  take  an 
age.  Next  I  was  staring  through  the  loophole  along  a 
barrel,  and  beyond  it  were  three  black  forms  in  line  on 
a  long  beam.  I  think  we  fired  —  Polly  Ann  and  I  —  at 
the  same  time.  One  fell.  We  saw  a  comedy  of  the  beam 
dropping  heavily  on  the  foot  of  another,  and  he  limping 
off  with  a  guttural  howl  of  rage  and  pain.  I  fired  a  pistol 
at  him,  but  missed  him,  and  then  I  was  ramming  a  powder 
charge  down  the  long  barrel  of  the  rifle.  Suddenly  there 
was  silence,  —  even  the  children  had  ceased  crying.  Out 
side,  in  the  dooryard,  a  feathered  figure  writhed  like  a 
snake  towards  the  fence.  The  moon  still  etched  the  pic 
ture  in  black  and  white. 

Shots  awoke  me,  I  think,  distant  shots.  And  they 
sounded  like  the  ripping  and  tearing  of  cloth  for  a  wound. 
'Twas  no  new  sound  to  me. 

"  Davy,  dear,"  said  a  voice,  tenderly. 

Out  of  the  mist  the  tear-stained  face  of  Polly  Ann  bent 
over  me.  I  put  up  my  hand,  and  dropped  it  again  with  a 
cry.  Then,  my  senses  coming  with  a  rush,  the  familiar 
objects  of  the  cabin  outlined  themselves  :  Tom's  winter 
hunting  shirt,  Polly  Ann's  woollen  shift  and  sunbonnet  on 
their  pegs ;  the  big  stone  chimney,  the  ladder  to  the  loft ; 
the  closed  door,  with  a  long,  jagged  line  across  it  where 
the  wood  was  splintered ;  and,  dearest  of  all,  the  chubby 
forms  of  Peggy  and  little  Tom  playing  on  the  trundle- 
bed.  Then  my  glance  wandered  to  the  floor,  and  on  the 
puncheons  were  three  stains.  I  closed  my  eyes. 


264  THE  CROSSING 

Again  came  a  far-off  rattle,  like  stones  falling  from  a 
great  height  down  a  rocky  bluff. 

44  What's  that  ?  "  I  whispered. 

"  They're  fighting  at  McAfee's  Station,"  said  Polly  Ann. 
She  put  her  cool  hand  on  my  head,  and  little  Tom  climbed 
up  on  the  bed  and  looked  up  into  my  face,  wistfully  calling 
my  name. 

"  Oh,  Davy,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  thought  ye  were  never 
coming  back." 

44  And  the  redskins  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  drew  the  child  away,  lest  he  hurt  me,  and  shuddered. 

44 1  reckon  'twas  only  a  war-party,"  she  answered.  "  The 
rest  is  at  McAfee's.  And  if  they  beat  'em  off  —  "  she 
stopped  abruptly. 

44  We  shall  be  saved,"  I  said. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  day.  Polly  Ann  left  my  side 
only  to  feed  the  children  and  to  keep  watch  out  of  the 
loopholes,  and  I  lay  on  my  back,  listening  and  listening  to 
the  shots.  At  last  these  became  scattered.  Then,  though 
we  strained  our  ears,  we  heard  them  no  more.  Was  the 
fort  taken  ?  The  sun  slid  across  the  heavens  and  shot 
narrow  blades  of  light,  now  through  one  loophole  and  now 
through  another,  until  a  ray  slanted  from  the  western  wall 
and  rested  upon  the  red-and-black  paint  of  two  dead 
bodies  in  the  corner.  I  stared  with  horror. 

44 1  was  afeard  to  open  the  door  and  throw  'em  out," 
said  Polly  Ann,  apologetically. 

Still  I  stared.  One  of  them  had  a  great  cleft  across  his 
face. 

44  But  I  thought  I  hit  him  in  the  shoulder,"  I  exclaimed. 

Polly  Ann  thrust  her  hand,  gently,  across  my  eyes. 
44  Davy,  ye  mustn't  talk,"  she  said;  44  that's  a  dear." 

Drowsiness  seized  me.     But  I  resisted. 

44  You  killed  him,  Polly  Ann,"  I  murmured,  44  you  ? " 

44  Hush,"  said  Polly  Ann. 

And  I  slept  again. 


CHAPTER   II 

"THE  BEGGARS   ARE  COME  TO   TOWN" 

"  THEY  was  that  destitute,"  said  Tom,  "  'twas  a  pity  to 
see  'em." 

"  And  they  be  grand  folks,  ye  say  ? "  said  Polly 
Ann. 

"  Grand  folks,  I  reckon.  And  helpless  as  babes  on 
the  Wilderness  Trail.  They  had  two  niggers  —  his 
nigger  an'  hers  —  and  they  was  tuckered,  too,  fer  a 
fact." 

"  Lawsy  !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann.  "  Be  still,  honey !  " 
Taking  a  piece  of  corn-pone  from  the  cupboard,  she  bent 
over  and  thrust  it  between  little  Peggy's  chubby  fingers. 
"  Be  still,  honey,  and  listen  to  what  your  Pa  says.  Whar 
did  ye  find  'em,  Tom?" 

"'Twas  Jim  Ray  found  'em,"  said  Tom.  "We  went 
up  to  Crab  Orchard,  accordin'  to  the  Colonel's  orders, 
and  we  was  thar  three  d.ays.  Ye  ought  to  hev  seen  the 
trash  we  turned  back.  Polly  Ann  !  Most  of  'em  was 
scared  plum'  crazy,  and  they  was  fer  gittin  'out  'n  Kain- 
tuckee  at  any  cost.  Some  was  fer  fightin'  their  way 
through  us." 

"The  skulks!"  exclaimed  Polly  Ann.  "They  tried  to 
kill  ye?  What  did  ye  do?" 

Tom  grinned,  his  mouth  full  of  bacon. 

"Do?"  says  he;  "we  shot  a  couple  of  'em  in  the  legs 
and  arms,  and  bound  'em  up  again.  They  was  in  a 
t'arin'  rage.  I'm  more  afeard  of  a  scar't  man,  —  a  real 
scar't  man  —  nor  a  rattler.  They  cussed  us  till  they 
was  hoarse.  Said  they'd  hev  us  hung,  an'  Clark,  too. 

265 


266  THE   CROSSING 

Said  they  bed  a  right  to  go  back  to  Virginny  if  they  bed 
a  mind." 

"An'  what  did  ye  say?"  demanded  Polly  Ann,  pausing 
in  her  work,  her  eyes  flashing  with  resentment.  "  Did  ye 
tell  'em  they  was  cowards  to  want  to  settle  lands,  and  not 
light  for  'em?  Other  folks'  lands,  too." 

"  We  didn't  tell  'em  nothin',"  said  Tom  ;  "  jest  sent  'em 
kitin'  back  to  the  stations  whar  they  come  from." 

"  I  reckon  they  won't  go  foolin'  with  Clark's  boys  again," 
said  Polly  Ann,  resuming  a  vigorous  rubbing  of  the  skillet. 
"  Ye  was  tellin'  me  about  these  fine  folks  ye  fetched  home." 
She  tossed  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  open  door,  and 
I  wondered  if  the  fine  folks  were  outside. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  Tom;  "they  was  comin'  this  way,  from 
the  Carolinys.  Jim  Ray  went  out  to  look  for  a  deer,  and 
found  'em  off  'n  the  trail.  By  the  etarnal,  they  was  tuck 
ered.  He  was  the  wust,  Jim  said,  lyin'  down  on  a  bed  of 
laurels  she  and  the  niggers  made.  She  has  sperrit,  that 
woman.  Jim  fed  him,  and  he  got  up.  She  wouldn't  eat 
nothin',  and  made  Jim  put  him  on  his  boss.  She  walked. 
I  can't  mek  out  why  them  aristocrats  wants  to  come  to 
Kaintuckee.  They're  a  sight  too  tender." 

"  Pore  things  !  "  said  Polly  Ann,  compassionately.  "  So 
ye  fetched  'em  home." 

"  They  hadn't  a  place  ter  go,"  said  he,  "  and  I  reckoned 
'twould  give  'em  time  ter  ketch  breath,  an'  turn  around. 
I  told  'em  livin'  in  Kaintuck  was  kinder  rough." 

"  Mercy !  "  said  Polly  Ann,  "  ter  think  that  they  was 
use'  ter  silver  spoons,  and  linen,  and  niggers  ter  wait  on 
'em.  Tom,  ye  must  shoot  a  turkey,  and  I'll  do  my  best 
to  give  'em  a  good  supper."  Tom  rose  obediently,  and 
seized  his  coonskin  hat.  She  stopped  him  with  a  word. 
«  Tom." 

"Ay?" 

"  Mayhap  —  mayhap  Davy  would  know  'em.  He's  been 
to  Charlestown  with  the  gentry  there." 

"  Mayhap,"  agreed  Tom.  "  Pore  little  deevil,"  said  he, 
"he's  bed  a  hard  time." 

"  He'll  be  right  again  soon,"  said  Polly  Ann.     "  He's 


"THE   BEGGAKS   AEE   COME  TO   TOWN"     267 

been  sleepin'  that  way,  off  and  on,  fer  a  week."  Her 
voice  faltered  into  a  note  of  tenderness  as  her  eyes 
rested  on  me. 

"  I  reckon  we  owe  Davy  a  heap,  Polly  Ann,"  said  he. 

I  was  about  to  interrupt,  but  Polly  Ann's  next  remark 
nr rested  me. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  "he  oughter  be  eddicated." 

"  Eddicated  ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  with  a  kind  of  dis 
may. 

"  Yes,  eddicated,"  she  repeated.  "  He  ain't  like  you 
and  me.  He's  different.  He  oughter  be  a  lawyer,  or 
somethin'." 

Tom  reflected. 

"  Ay,"  he  answered,  "  the  Colonel  says  that  same 
thing.  He  oughter  be  sent  over  the  mountain  to  git 
1'arnin'." 

"  And  we'll  be  missing  him  sore,"  said  Polly  Ann,  with 
a  sigh. 

I  wanted  to  speak  then,  but  the  words  would  not 
come. 

"  Whar  hev  they  gone  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  To  take  a  walk,"  said  Polly  Ann,  and  laughed.  "  The 
gentry  has  sech  fancies  as  that.  Tom,  I  reckon  I'll  fly 
over  to  Mrs.  McCann's  an'  beg  some  of  that  prime  bacon 
she  has." 

Tom  picked  up  his  rifle,  and  they  went  out  together. 
I  lay  for  a  long  time  reflecting.  To  the  strange  guests 
whom  Tom  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart  had  brought  back 
and  befriended  I  gave  little  attention.  I  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  love  which  had  just  been  revealed  to  ine.  And  so 
I  was  to  be  educated.  It  had  been  in  my  mind  these 
many  years,  but  I  had  never  spoken  of  it  to  Polly  Ann. 
Dear  Polly  Ann !  My  eyes  filled  at  the  thought  that  she 
herself  had  determined  upon  this  sacrifice. 

There  were  footsteps  at  the  door,  and  these  I  heard,  and 
heeded  not.  Then  there  came  a  voice,  —  a  woman's  voice, 
modulated  and  trained  in  the  perfections  of  speech  and 
in  the  art  of  treating  things  lightly.  At  the  sound  of  that 
voice  I  caught  my  breath. 


268  THE  CROSSING 

"  What  a  pastoral  !  Harry,  if  we  have  sought  for  virtue 
in  the  wilderness,  we  have  found  it." 

"  When  have  we  ever  sought  for  virtue,  Sarah  ?  " 

It  was  the  man  who  answered  and  stirred  another  chord 
of  my  memory. 

"  When,  indeed  !  "  said  the  woman  ;  "  'tis  a  luxury  that 
is  denied  us,  I  fear  me." 

"  Egad,  we  have  run  the  gamut,  all  but  that." 

I  thought  the  woman  sighed. 

"  Our  hosts  are  gone  out,"  she  said,  "bless  their  simple 
souls  !  'Tis  Arcady,  Harry,  '  where  thieves  do  not  break 
in  and  steal.'  That's  Biblical,  isn't  it  ?  "  She  paused,  and 
joined  in  the  man's  laugh.  "  I  remember —  "  She  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Thieves!"  said  he,  "not  in  our  sense.  And  yet  a 
fortnight  ago  this  sylvan  retreat  was  the  scene  of  murder 
and  sudden  death." 

"  Yes,  Indians,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  but  they  are  beaten 
off  and  forgotten.  Troubles  do  not  last  here.  Did  you 
see  the  boy  ?  He's  in  there,  in  the  corner,  getting  well  of 
a  fearful  hacking.  Mrs.  McChesney  says  he  saved  her 
and  her  brats." 

"  Ay,  McChesney  told  me,"  said  the  man.  "  Let's  have 
a  peep  at  him." 

In  they  came,  and  I  looked  on  the  woman,  and  would 
have  leaped  from  my  bed  had  the  strength  been  in  me. 
Superb  she  was,  though  her  close-fitting  travelling  gown 
of  green  cloth  was  frayed  and  torn  by  the  briers,  and  the 
beauty  of  her  face  enhanced  by  the  marks  of  I  know  not 
what  trials  and  emotions.  Little,  dark-pencilled  lines 
under  the  eyes  were  nigh  robbing  these  of  the  haughtiness 
I  had  once  seen  and  hated.  Set  high  on  her  hair  was  a  curv 
ing,  green  hat  with  a  feather,  ill-suited  to  the  wilderness. 

I  looked  on  the  man.  He  was  as  ill-equipped  as  she. 
A  London  tailor  must  have  cut  his  suit  of  gray.  A  single 
band  of  linen,  soiled  by  the  journey,  was  wound  about  his 
throat,  and  I  remember  oddly  the  buttons  stuck  on  his 
knees  and  cuffs,  and  these  silk-embroidered  in  a  criss-cross 
pattern  of  lighter  gray.  Some  had  been  torn  off.  As  for 


"THE  BEGGAKS  ARE  COME  TO   TOWN"     269 

his  face,  'twas  as  handsome  as  ever,  for  dissipation  sat 
well  upon  it. 

My  thoughts  flew  back  to  that  day  long  gone  when  a 
friendless  boy  rode  up  a  long  drive  to  a  pillared  mansion. 
I  saw  again  the  picture.  The  horse  with  the  craning  neck, 
the  liveried  servant  at  the  bridle,  the  listless  young  gentle 
man  with  the  shiny  boots  reclining  on  the  horse-block, 
and  above  him,  under  the  portico,  the  grand  lady  whose 
laugh  had  made  me  sad.  And  I  remembered,  too,  the 
wild,  neglected  lad  who  had  been  to  me  as  a  brother, 
warm-hearted  and  generous,  who  had  shared  what  he 
had  with  a  foundling,  who  had  wept  with  me  in  my  first 
great  sorrow.  Where  was  he  ? 

For  I  was  face  to  face  once  more  with  Mrs.  Temple  and 
Mr.  Harry  Riddle  ! 

The  lady  started  as  she  gazed  at  me,  and  her  tired  eyes 
widened.  She  clutched  Mr.  Riddle's  arm. 

"  Harry  !  "  she  cried,  "  Harry,  he  puts  me  in  mind  of  — 
of  some  one  —  I  cannot  think." 

Mr.  Riddle  laughed  nervously. 

"There,  there,  Sally,"  says  he,  "all  brats  resemble 
somebody.  I  have  heard  you  say  so  a  dozen  times." 

She  turned  upon  him  an  appealing  glance. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  catch  of  her  breath,  "  is 
there  no  such  thing  as  oblivion  ?  Is  there  a  place  in  the 
world  that  is  not  haunted?  I  am  cursed  with  memory." 

"  Or  the  lack  of  it,"  answered  Mr.  Riddle,  pulling  out 
a  silver  snuff-box  from  his  pocket  and  staring  at  it  rue 
fully.  "  Damme,  the  snuff  I  fetched  from  Paris  is  gone, 
all  but  a  pinch.  Here  is  a  real  tragedy." 

"  It  was  the  same  in  Rome,"  the  lady  continued,  un 
heeding,  "  when  we  met  the  Izards,  and  at  Venice  that 
nasty  Colonel  Tarleton  saw  us  at  the  opera.  In  London 
we  must  needs  run  into  the  Manners  from  Maryland.  In 
Paris  —  " 

"  In  Paris  we  were  safe  enough,"  Mr.  Riddle  threw  in 
hastily. 

"  And  why?  "  she  flashed  back  at  him. 

He  did  not  answer  that. 


270  THE  CROSSING 

"  A  truce  with  your  fancies,  madam,"  said  he.  "  Be 
hold  a  soul  of  good  nature  !  I  have  followed  you  through 
half  the  civilized  countries  of  the  globe  —  none  of  them 
are  good  enough.  You  must  needs  cross  the  ocean  again,, 
and  come  to  the  wilds.  We  nearly  die  on  the  trail,  are 
picked  up  by  a  Samaritan  in  buckskin  and  taken  into  the- 
bosom  of  his  worthy  family.  And  forsooth,  you  look  at 
a  backwoods  urchin,  and  are  nigh  to  swooning." 

"  Hush,  Harry,"  she  cried,  starting  forward  and  peering 
into  my  face  ;  "  he  will  hear  you." 

"  Tut !  "  said  Harry,  "  what  if  he  does  ?  London  and 
Paris  are  words  to  him.  We  might  as  well  be  speaking 
French.  And  I'll  take  my  oath  he's  sleeping." 

The  corner  where  I  lay  was  dark,  for  the  cabin  had  no 
windows.  And  if  my  life  had  depended  upon  speaking,  I 
could  have  found  no  fit  words  then. 

She  turned  from  me,  and  her  mood  changed  swiftly. 
For  she  laughed  lightly,  musically,  and  put  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Perchance  I  am  ghost-ridden,"  she  said. 

"  They  are  not  ghosts  of  a  past  happiness,  at  all  events," 
he  answered. 

She  sat  down  on  a  stool  before  the  hearth,  and  clasping 
her  fingers  upon  her  knee  looked  thoughtfully  into  the 
embers  of  the  fire.  Presently  she  began  to  speak  in  a  low, 
even  voice,  he  looking  down  at  her,  his  feet  apart,  his 
hand  thrust  backward  towards  the  heat. 

"  Harry,"  she  said,  "  do  you  remember  all  our  contriv 
ances  ?  How  you  used  to  hold  my  hand  in  the  garden 
under  the  table,  while  I  talked  brazenly  to  Mr.  Mason  ? 
And  how  jealous  Jack  Temple  used  to  get  ? "  She 
laughed  again,  softly,  always  looking  at  the  fire. 

"  Damnably  jealous  !  "  agreed  Mr.  Riddle,  and  yawned. 
"  Served  him  devilish  right  for  marrying  you.  And  he 
was  a  blind  fool  for  five  long  years." 

"  Yes,  blind,"  the  lady  agreed.  "  How  could  he  have 
been  so  blind  ?  How  well  I  recall  the  day  he  rode  after 
us  in  the  woods." 

"  'Twas  the  parson  told,  curse  him  !  "  said  Mr.  Riddle. 


"THE   BEGGAES  ARE   COME   TO   TOWN"      271 

*'  We  should  have  gone  that  night,  if  your  courage  hau 
held." 

"  My  courage  !  "  she  cried,  flashing  a  look  upwards, 
*'  ray  foresight.  A  pretty  mess  we  had  made  of  it  without 
my  inheritance.  'Tis  small  enough,  the  Lord  knows.  In 
Europe  we  should  have  been  dregs.  We  should  have 
starved  in  the  wilderness  with  you  a-farming." 

He  looked  down  at  her  curiously. 

"  Devilish  queer  talk,"  said  he,  "  but  while  we  are  in  it, 
I  wonder  where  Temple  is  now.  He  got  aboard  the 
King's  frigate  with  a  price  on  his  head.  Williams  told 
me  he  saw  him  in  London,  at  White's.  Have  —  have 
you  ever  heard,  Sarah  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  her  glance  returning  to  the  ashes. 

"  No,"  she  answered. 

"Faith,"  says  Mr.  Riddle,  "he'll  scarce  turn  up  here." 

She  did  not  answer  that,  but  sat  motionless. 

"  He'll  scarce  turn  up  here,  in  these  wilds,"  Mr.  Riddle 
repeated,  "  and  what  I  am  wondering,  Sarah,  is  how  the 
devil  we  are  to  live  here." 

"  How  do  these  good  people  live,  who  helped  us  when 
we  were  starving  ?  " 

Mr.  Riddle  flung  his  hand  eloquently  around  the  cabin. 
There  was  something  of  disgust  in  the  gesture. 

"  You  see  !  "  he  said,  "love  in  a  cottage." 

"  But  it  is  love,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  low  tone. 

He  broke  into  laughter. 

"  Sally,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  visions  of  you  gracing  the 
board  at  which  we  sat  to-day,  patting  journey-cakes  on 
the  hearth,  stewing  squirrel  broth  with  the  same  pride 
that  you  once  planned  a  rout.  Cleaning  the  pots  and 
pans,  and  standing  anxious  at  the  doorway  staring 
through  a  sunbonnet  for  your  lord  and  master." 

"  My  lord  and  master  !  "  said  the  lady,  and  there  was 
so  much  of  scorn  in  the  words  that  Mr.  Riddle  winced. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  grant  now  that  you  could  make 
pans  shine  like  pier-glasses,  that  you  could  cook  bacon  to 
a  turn  —  although  I  would  have  laid  an  hundred  guineas 
against  it  some  years  ago.  What  then  ?  Are  you  to  be 


272  THE   CROSSING 

contented  with  four  log  walls  ?  With  the  intellectual 
companionship  of  the  McChesneys  and  their  friends? 
Are  you  to  depend  for  excitement  upon  the  chances  of 
having  the  hair  neatly  cut  from  your  head  by  red  fiends  ? 
Come,  we'll  go  back  to  the  Rue  St.  Dominique,  to  the  sup 
pers  and  the  card  parties  of  the  countess.  We'll  be  rid  of 
regrets  for  a  life  upon  which  we  have  turned  our  backs 
forever." 

She  shook  her  head,  sadly. 

"  It's  no  use,  Harry,"  said  she,  "  we'll  never  be  rid  of 
regrets." 

"  We'll  never  have  a  barony  like  Temple  Bow,  and  races 
every  week,  and  gentry  round  about.  But,  damn  it,  the 
Rebels  have  spoiled  all  that  since  the  war." 

"Those  are  not  the  regrets  I  mean,"  answered  Mrs. 
Temple. 

"  What  then,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You 
were  not  wont  to  be  thus.  But  now  I  vow  you  go  beyond 
me.  What  then  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  leaning  forward  over  the 
hearth,  he  staring  at  her  in  angry  perplexity.  A  sound 
broke  the  afternoon  stillness,  —  the  pattering  of  small, 
bare  feet  on  the  puncheons.  A  tremor  shook  the  woman's 
shoulders,  and  little  Tom  stood  before  her,  a  quaint  figure 
in  a  butternut  smock,  his  blue  eyes  questioning.  He 
laid  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  With  a  sudden  impulse 
she  turned  and  flung  her  arms  about  the  boy  and  strained 
him  to  her,  and  kissed  his  brown  hair.  He  struggled,  but 
when  she  released  him  he  sat  very  still  on  her  knee,  look 
ing  into  her  face.  For  he  was  a  solemn  child.  The  lady 
smiled  at  him,  and  there  were  two  splashes  like  raindrops 
on  her  fair  cheeks. 

As  for  Mr.  Riddle,  he  went  to  the  door,  looked  out,  and 
took  a  last  pinch  of  snuff. 

"Here  is  the  mistress  of  the  house  coming  back,"  he 
Cried,  "  and  singing  like  the  shepherdess  in  the  opera." 

It  was  Polly  Ann  indeed.  At  the  sound  of  his  mother's 
Voice,  little  Tom  jumped  down  from  the  lady's  lap  and 


"THE   BEGGARS  AKE  COME  TO   TOWN"      273 

ran  past  Mr.  Riddle  at  the  door.     Mrs.  Temple's  thoughts 
were  gone  across  the  mountains. 

"  And  what  is  that  you  have  under  your  arm  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Riddle,  as  he  gave  back. 

"  I've  fetched  some  prime  bacon  fer  your  supper,  sir," 
said  Polly  Arm,  all  rosy  from  her  walk  ;  "  what  I  have 
ain't  fit  to  give  ye." 

Mrs.  Temple  rose. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  what  you  have  is  too  good  for 
us.  And  if  you  do  such  a  thing  again,  I  shall  be  very 
angry." 

"  Lord,  ma'am,"  exclaimed  Polly  Ann,  "  and  you  use'  ter 
dainties  an'  silver  an'  linen  !  Tom  is  gone  to  try  to  git  a 
turkey  for  ye."  She  paused,  and  looked  compassionately 
at  the  lady.  "  Bless  ye,  ma'am,  ye're  that  tuckered  from 
the  mountains  !  'Tis  a  fearsome  journey." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lady,  simply,  "  I  am  tired." 

"  Small  wonder  !  "  exclaimed  Polly  Ann.  "  To  think 
what  ye've  been  through  —  yere  husband  near  to  dyin' 
afore  yere  eyes,  and  ye  a-reskin'  yere  own  life  to  save  him 
—  so  Tom  tells  me.  When  Tom  goes  out  a-fightin'  red 
skins  I'm  that  fidgety  I  can't  set  still.  I  wouldn't  let  him 
know  what  I  feel  fer  the  world.  But  well  ye  know  the 
pain  of  it,  who  love  yere  husband  like  that." 

The  lady  would  have  smiled  bravely,  had  the  strength 
been  given  her.  She  tried.  And  then,  with  a  shudder, 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  don't !  " 

Mr.  Riddle  went  out. 

"  There,  there,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "  I  hedn't  no  right  ter 
speak,  and  ye  fair  worn  out."  She  drew  her  gently  into 
a  chair.  "  Set  down,  ma'am,  and  don't  ye  stir  tell  supper's 
ready."  She  brushed  her  eyes  with  her  sleeve,  and,  step 
ping  briskly  to  my  bed,  bent  over  me.  "  Davy,"  she  said, 
"  Davy,  how  be  ye?  " 

"  Davy  ! " 

It  was  the  lady's  voice.  She  stood  facing  us,  and  neyer 
while  I  live  shall  I  forget  that  which  I  saw  in  her  eyes. 
Some  resemblance  it  bore  to  the  look  of  the  hunted  deer, 


274  THE  CROSSING 

but  in  the  animal  it  is  dumb,  appealing.  Understanding 
made  the  look  of  the  woman  terrible  to  behold,  —  under 
standing,  ay,  and  courage.  For  she  did  not  lack  this  last 
quality.  Polly  Ann  gave  back  in  a  kind  of  dismay,  and  I 
shivered. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  David  Ritchie." 

"You  —  you  dare  to  judge  me  !  "  she  cried. 

I  knew  not  why  she  said  this. 

"  To  judge  you  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Yes,  to  judge  me,"  she  answered.  "  I  know  you, 
David  Ritchie,  and  the  blood  that  runs  in  you.  Your 
mother  was  a  foolish  —  saint "  (she  laughed),  "  who 
lifted  her  eyebrows  when  I  married  her  brother,  John 
Temple.  That  was  her  condemnation  of  me,  and  it  stung 
me  more  than  had  a  thousand  sermons.  A  doting  saint, 
because  she  followed  your  father  into  the  mountain  wilds 
to  her  death  for  a  whim  of  his.  And  your  father!  A 
Calvinist  fanatic  who  had  no  mercy  on  sin,  save  for  that 
particular  weakness  of  his  own  —  " 

"  Stop,  Mrs.  Temple  !  "  I  cried,  lifting  up  in  bed.  And 
to  my  astonishment  she  was  silenced,  looking  at  me  in 
amazement.  "  You  had  your  vengeance  when  I  came  to 
you,  when  you  turned  from  me  with  a  lift  of  your  shoul 
ders  at  the  news  of  my  father's  death.  And  now — " 

"And  now?"  she  repeated  questioningly. 

"  Now  I  thought  you  were  changed,"  I  said  slowly,  for 
the  excitement  was  telling  on  me. 

"  You  listened !  "  she  said. 

"  I  pitied  you." 

"Oh,  pity!"  she  cried.  "My  God,  that  you  should 
pity  me !  "  She  straightened,  and  summoned  all  the 
spirit  that  was  in  her.  "  I  would  rather  be  called  a  name 
than  have  the  pity  of  you  and  yours." 

"  You  cannot  change  it,  Mrs.  Temple,"  I  answered,  and 
fell  back  on  the  nettle-bark  sheets.  "  You  cannot  change 
it,"  I  heard  myself  repeating,  as  though  it  were  another's 
voice.  And  1  knew  that  Polly  Ann  was  bending  over  me 
and  calling  me. 

##****« 


"THE   BEGGARS   ARE  COME  TO  TOWN"      275 

44  Where  did  they  go,  Polly  Ann  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Acrost  the  Mississippi,  to  the  lands  of  the  Spanish 
King,"  said  Polly  Ann. 

"  And  where  in  those  dominions  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  John  Saunders  took  'em  as  far  as  the  Falls,"  Polly 
Ann  answered.  "  He  'lowed  they  was  goin'  to  St.  Louis. 
But  they  never  said  a  word.  I  reckon  they'll  be  hunted 
as  long  as  they  live." 

I  had  thought  of  them  much  as  I  lay  on  my  back  recov 
ering  from  the  fever,  —  the  fever  for  which  Mrs.  Temple 
was  to  blame.  Yet  I  bore  her  no  malice.  And  many 
other  thoughts  I  had,  probing  back  into  childhood  memo 
ries  for  the  solving  of  problems  there. 

"  I  knowed  ye  come  of  gentlefolks,  Davy,"  Polly  Ann 
had  said  when  we  talked  together. 

So  I  was  first  cousin  to  Nick,  and  nephew  to  that  self 
ish  gentleman,  Mr.  Temple,  in  whose  affectionate  care  I 
had  been  left  in  Charlestown  by  my  father.  And  my 
father  ?  Who  had  he  been  ?  I  remembered  the  speech  that 
he  had  used  and  taught  me,  and  how  his  neighbors  had 
dubbed  him  "aristocrat."  But  Mrs.  Temple  was  gone, 
and  it  was  not  in  likelihood  that  I  should  ever  see  her 
more. 


CHAPTER   III 

WE  GO   TO   DANVILLE 

Two  years  went  by,  two  uneventful  years  for  me,  two 
mighty  years  for  Kentucky.  Westward  rolled  the  tide 
of  emigrants  to  change  her  character,  but  to  swell  her 
power.  Towns  and  settlements  sprang  up  in  a  season  and 
flourished,  and  a  man  could  scarce  keep  pace  with  the 
growth  of  them.  Doctors  came,  and  ministers,  and  law 
yers  ,  generals  and  majors,  and  captains  and  subalterns  of 
the  Revolution,  to  till  their  grants  and  to  found  families. 
There  were  gentry,  too,  from  the  tide-waters,  come  to  re 
trieve  the  fortunes  which  they  had  lost  by  their  patriotism. 
There  wery  storekeepers  like  Mr.  Scarlett,  adventurers 
and  ne'er-do-weels  who  hoped  to  start  with  a  clean  slate, 
and  a  host  of  lazy  vagrants  who  thought  to  scratch  the 
soil  arid  find  abundance. 

I  must  not  forget  how,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  I  be 
came  a  landowner,  thanks  to  my  name  being  on  the  roll 
of  Colonel  Clark's  regiment.  For,  in  a  spirit  of  munifi 
cence,  the  Assembly  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Virginia  had 
awarded  to  every  private  in  that  regiment  one  hundred 
and  eight  acres  of  land  on  the  Ohio  River,  north  of  the 
Falls.  Sergeant  Thomas  McChesney,  as  a  reward  for  his 
services  in  one  of  the  severest  campaigns  in  history,  re 
ceived  a  grant  of  two  hundred  and  sixteen  acres  !  You 
who  will  may  look  at  the  plat  made  by  William  Clark, 
Surveyor  for  the  Board  of  Commissioners,  and  find  sixteen 
acres  marked  for  Thomas  McChesney  in  Section  169,  and 
two  hundred  more  in  Section  3.  Section  3  fronted  the  Ohio 
some  distance  above  Bear  Grass  Creek,  and  was,  of  course, 

276 


WE   GO   TO   DANVILLE  277 

on  the  Illinois  shore.  As  for  my  own  plots,  some  miles  in 
the  interior,  I  never  saw  them.  But  1  own  them  to  this 
day. 

I  mention  these  things  as  bearing  on  the  story  of  my 
life,  with  which  I  must  get  on.  And,  therefore,  I  may 
not  dwell  upon  this  injustice  to  the  men  who  won  an 
empire  and  wers  flung  a  bone  long  afterwards. 

It  was  early  autumn  once  more,  and  such  a  busy  week 
we  had  had  at  the  mill,  that  Tom  was  perforce  obliged  to 
remain  at  home  arid  help,  though  he  longed  to  be  gone 
with  Cowan  and  Ray  a-huriting  to  the  southwest.  Up 
rides  a  man  named  Jarrott,  flings  himself  from  his  horse, 
passes  the  time  of  day  as  he  watches  the  grinding,  helps 
Tom  to  tie  up  a  sack  or  two,  and  hands  him  a  paper. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  says  Tom,  staring  at  it  blankly. 

"  Ye  won't  blame  me,  Mac,"  answers  Mr.  Jarrott,  some 
what  ashamed  of  his  role  of  process-server.  "  'Tain't  none 
of  my  doin's." 

"  Read  it,  Davy,"  said  Tom,  giving  it  to  me. 

I  stopped  the  mill,  and,  unfolding  the  paper,  read.  I 
remember  not  the  quaint  wording  of  it,  save  that  it  was 
ill-spelled  and  ill-writ  generally.  In  short,  it  was  a  sum 
mons  for  Tom  to  appear  before  the  court  at  Danville  on  a 
certain  day  in  the  following  week,  and  I  made  out  that  a 
Mr.  Neville  Colfax  was  the  plaintiff  in  the  matter,  and 
that  the  suit  had  to  do  with  land. 

"  Neville  Colfax !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  that's  the  man  for 
whom  Mr.  Potts  was  agent." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Tom,  and  sat  him  down  on  the  meal- 
bags.  "Drat  the  varmint,  he  kin  hev  the  land." 

"Hev  the  land?"  cried  Polly  Ann,  who  had  come  in 
upon  us.  "  Hev  ye  no  sperrit,  Tom  McChesney  ?  " 

"  There's  no  chance  ag'in  the  law,"  said  Tom,  hope 
lessly.  "Thar's  Perkins  had  his  land  tuck  away  last 
year,  and  Terrell's  moved  out,  and  twenty  more  I 
could  name.  And  thar's  Dan'l  Boone,  himself.  Most 
the  rich  bottom  he  tuck  up  the  critters  hev  got  away 
from  him." 

"  Ye'll  go  to  Danville  and  take  Davy  with  ye  and  fight 


278  THE   CROSSING 

it,"  answered  Polly  Ann,  decidedly.  "  Davy  has  a  word 
to  say,  I  reckon.  'Twas  he  made  the  mill  and  scar't  that 
Mr.  Potts  away.  I  reckon  he'll  git  us  out  of  this  fix." 

Mr.  Jarrott  applauded  her  courage. 

"  Ye  have  the  grit,  ma'am,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted  his 
horse  again.  "  Here's  luck  to  ye  !  " 

The  remembrance  of  Mr.  Potts  weighed  heavily  upon 
my  mind  during  the  next  week.  Perchance  Tom  would 
have  to  pay  for  this  prank  likewise.  'Twas  indeed  a  fool 
ish,  childish  thing  to  have  done,  and  I  might  have  known 
that  it  would  only  have  put  off  the  evil  day  of  reckoning. 
Since  then,  by  reason  of  the  mill  site  and  the  business  we 
got  by  it,  the  land  had  become  the  most  valuable  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  Had  I  known  Colonel  Clark's 
whereabouts,  I  should  have  gone  to  him  for  advice  and 
comfort.  As  it  was,  we  were  forced  to  await  the  issue 
without  counsel.  Polly  Ann  and  I  talked  it  over  many 
times  while  Tom  sat,  morose  and  silent,  in  a  corner.  He 
was  the  pioneer  pure  and  simple,  afraid  of  no  man,  red  or 
white,  in  open  combat,  but  defenceless  in  such  matters  as 
this. 

"  'Tis  Davy  will  save  us,  Tom,"  said  Polly  Ann,  "  with 
the  1'arnin'  he's  got  while  the  corn  was  grindin'." 

I  had,  indeed,  been  reading  at  the  mill  while  the  hopper 
emptied  itself,  such  odd  books  as  drifted  into  Harrods- 
town.  One  of  these  was  called  "•  Bacon's  Abridgment " ; 
it  dealt  with  law  and  it  puzzled  me  sorely. 

"And  the  children,"  Polly  Ann  continued,  — "  ye'll  not 
make  me  pick  up  the  four  of  'em,  and  pack  it  to  Louisi 
ana,  because  Mr.  Colfax  wants  the  land  we've  made  for 
ourselves." 

There  were  four  of  them  now,  indeed,  —  the  youngest 
still  in  the  bark  cradle  in  the  corner.  He  bore  a  no  less 
illustrious  name  than  that  of  the  writer  of  these  chronicles. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  was  the  more  troubled, 
Tom  or  I,  that  windy  morning  we  set  out  on  the  Danville 
trace.  Polly  Ann  alone  had  been  serene,  —  ay,  and  smil 
ing  and  hopeful.  She  had  kissed  us  each  good-by  impar 
tially.  And  we  left  her,  with  a  future  governor  of 


WE   GO  TO  DANVILLE  279 

Kentucky  on  her  shoulder,  tripping  lightly  down  to  the 
mill  to  grind  the  McGarrys'  corn. 

When  the  forest  was  cleared  at  Danville,  Justice  was 
housed  first.  She  was  not  the  serene,  inexorable  dame 
whom  we  have  seen  in  pictures  holding  her  scales  above 
the  jars  of  earth.  Justice  at  Danville  was  a  somewhat 
high-spirited,  quarrelsome  lady  who  decided  matters 
oftenest  with  the  stroke  of  a  sword.  There  was  a  certain 
dignity  about  her  temple  withal,  — for  instance,  if  a  judge 
wore  linen,  that  linen  must  not  be  soiled.  Nor  was  it 
etiquette  for  a  judge  to  lay  his  own  hands  in  chastisement 
on  contemptuous  persons,  though  Justice  at  Danville  had 
more  compassion  than  her  sisters  in  older  communities 
upon  human  failings. 

There  was  a  temple  built  to  her  "  of  hewed  or  sawed 
logs  nine  inches  thick"  —  so  said  the  specifications. 
Within  the  temple  was  a  rude  platform  which  served  as  a 
bar,  and  since  Justice  is  supposed  to  carry  a  torch  in  her 
hand,  there  were  no  windows,  —  nor  any  windows  in  the 
jail  next  door,  where  some  dozen  offenders  languished  on 
the  afternoon  that  Tom  and  I  rode  into  town. 

There  was  nothing  auspicious  in  the  appearance  of 
Danville,  and  no  man  might  have  said  then  that  the  place 
was  to  be  the  scene  of  portentous  conventions  which  were 
to  decide  the  destiny  of  a  State.  Here  was  a  sprinkling 
of  log  cabins,  some  in  the  building,  and  an  inn,  by  courtesy 
so  called.  Tom  and  I  would  have  preferred  to  sleep  in 
the  woods  near  by,  with  our  feet  to  the  blaze  ;  this  was 
partly  from  motives  of  economy,  and  partly  because  Tom, 
in  common  with  other  pioneers,  held  an  inn  in  contempt. 
But  to  come  back  to  our  arrival. 

It  was  a  sunny  and  windy  afternoon,  and  the  leaves 
were  flying  in  the  air.  Around  the  court-house  was  a 
familiar,  buzzing  scene,  —  the  backwoodsmen,  lounging 
against  the  wall  or  brawling  over  their  claims,  the  sleek 
agents  and  attorneys,  and  half  a  dozen  of  a  newer  type. 
These  were  adventurous  young  gentlemen  of  family,  some 
of  them  lawyers  and  some  of  them  late  officers  in  the  Con 
tinental  army  who  had  been  rewarded  with  grants  of  land. 


280  THE  CROSSING 

These  were  the  patrons  of  the  log  tavern  which  stood 
near  by  with  the  blackened  stumps  around  it,  where  there 
was  much  card-playing  and  roistering,  ay,  and  even 
duelling,  of  nights. 

"  Thar's  Mac,"  cried  a  backwoodsman  who  was  sitting 
on  the  court-house  steps  as  we  rode  up.  "  Howdy,  Mac ; 
be  they  tryin'  to  git  your  land,  too  ?  " 

"  Howdy,  Mac,"  said  a  dozen  more,  paying  a  tribute  to 
Ton:  :s  popularity.  And  some  of  them  greeted  me. 

"  Is  this  whar  they  take  a  man's  land  away  ?  "  says  Tom, 
jerking  his  thumb  at  the  open  door. 

Tom  had  no  intention  of  uttering  a  witticism,  but  his 
words  were  followed  by  loud  guffaws  from  all  sides,  even 
the  lawyers  joining  in. 

"  I  reckon  this  is  the  place,  Tom,"  came  the  answer. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  take  a  peep  in  thar,"  said  Tom,  leaping 
off  his  horse  and  shouldering  his  way  to  the  door.  I  fol 
lowed  him,  curious.  The  building  was  half  full.  Two 
elderly  gentlemen  of  grave  demeanor  sat  on  stools  behind 
a  puncheon  table,  and  near  them  a  young  man  was  writ 
ing.  Behind  the  young  man  was  a  young  gentleman  who 
was  closing  a  speech  as  we  entered,  and  he  had  spoken 
with  such  vehemence  that  the  perspiration  stood  out  on 
his  brow.  There  was  a  murmur  from  those  listening,  and 
I  saw  Tom  pressing  his  way  to  the  front. 

"  Hev  any  of  ye  seen  a  feller  named  Colfax  ? "  cries 
Tom,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  He  says  he  owns  the  land  I  set 
tled,  and  he  ain't  ever  seed  it." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  even  the  judges  smiled. 

"  Whar  is  he  ?  "  cries  Tom  ;  "  said  he'd  be  here  to-day." 

Another  gust  of  laughter  drowned  his  words,  and  then 
one  of  the  judges  got  up  and  rapped  on  the  table.  The 
gentleman  who  had  just  made  the  speech  glared  mightily, 
and  I  supposed  he  had  lost  the  effect  of  it. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  interrupting  the  court?  "  cried 
the  judge.  "  Get  out,  sir,  or  I'll  have  you  fined  for  con 
tempt." 

Tom  looked  dazed.  But  at  that  moment  a  hand  was 
laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  Tom  turned. 


WE   GO  TO  DANVILLE  281 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  thar's  no  devil  if  it  ain't  the  Colonel. 
Polly  Ann  told  me  not  to  let  'em  scar'  me,  Colonel." 

"And  quite  right,  Tom,"  Colonel  Clark  answered, 
smiling.  He  turned  to  the  judges.  "  If  your  Honors 
please,"  said  he,  "  this  gentleman  is  an  old  soldier  of 
mine,  and  unused  to  the  ways  of  court.  I  beg  your 
Honors  to  excuse  him." 

The  judges  smiled  back,  and  the  Colonel  led  us  out  of 
the  building. 

"  Now,  Tom,"  said  he,  after  he  had  given  me  a  nod  and 
a  kind  word,  "  I  know  this  Mr.  Colfax,  and  if  you  will 
come  into  the  tavern  this  evening  after  court,  we'll  see 
what  can  be  done.  I  have  a  case  of  my  own  at  present." 

Tom  was  very  grateful.  He  spent  the  remainder  of 
the  daylight  hours  with  other  friends  of  his,  shooting  at  a 
mark  near  by,  serenely  confident  of  the  result  of  his  case 
now  that  Colonel  Clark  had  a  hand  in  it.  Tom  being  one 
of  the  best  shots  in  Kentucky,  he  had  won  two  beaver 
skins  before  the  early  autumn  twilight  fell.  As  for  me, 
I  had  an  afternoon  of  excitement  in  the  court,  fascinated 
by  the  marvels  of  its  procedures,  by  the  impassioned 
speeches  of  its  advocates,  by  the  gravity  of  its  judges. 
Ambition  stirred  within  me. 

The  big  room  of  the  tavern  was  filled  with  men  in 
heated  talk  over  the  day's  doings,  some  calling  out  for 
black  betty,  some  for  rum,  and  some  demanding  apple 
toddies.  The  landlord's  slovenly  negro  came  in  with 
candles,  their  feeble  rays  reenforcing  the  firelight  and 
revealing  the  mud-chinked  walls.  Tom  and  I  had  barely 
sat  ourselves  down  at  a  table  in  a  corner,  when  in  came 
Colonel  Clark.  Beside  him  was  a  certain  swarthy  gentle 
man  whom  I  had  noticed  in  the  court,  a  man  of  some 
thirty-five  years,  with  a  fine,  fleshy  face  and  coal-black 
hair.  His  expression  was  not  one  to  give  us  the  hope  of 
an  amicable  settlement,  —  in  fact,  he  had  the  scowl  of  a 
thundercloud.  He  was  talking  quite  angrily,  and  seemed 
not  to  heed  those  around  him. 

"  Why  the  devil  should  I  see  the  man,  Clark  ?  "  he  was 
saying. 


282  THE  CROSSING 

The  Colonel  did  not  answer  until  they  had  stopped  in 
front  of  us. 

"  Major  Colfax,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Sergeant  Tom  Mc- 
Chesney,  one  of  the  best  friends  I  have  in  Kentucky.  I 
think  a  vast  deal  of  Tom,  Major.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
that  never  failed  me  in  the  Illinois  campaign.  He  is  as 
honest  as  the  day ;  you  will  find  him  plain-spoken  if  he 
speaks  at  all,  and  I  have  great  hopes  that  you  will  agree. 
Tom,  the  Major  and  I  are  boyhood  friends,  and  for  the 
sake  of  that  friendship  he  has  consented  to  this  meeting." 

"  I  fear  that  your  kind  efforts  will  be  useless,  Colonel,'* 
Major  Colfax  put  in,  rather  tartly.  "  Mr.  McChesney  not 
only  ignores  my  rights,  but  was  near  to  hanging  my  agent." 

"  What  ?  "  says  Colonel  Clark. 

I  glanced  at  Tom.  However  helpless  he  might  be  in  a 
court,  he  could  be  counted  on  to  stand  up  stanchly  in  a 
personal  argument.  His  retorts  would  certainly  not  be 
brilliant,  but  they  surely  would  be  dogged.  Major  Colfax 
had  begun  wrong. 

"  I  reckon  ye've  got  no  rights  that  I  know  on,"  said 
Tom.  "  I  cleart  the  land  and  settled  it,  and  I  have  a 
better  right  to  it  nor  any  man.  And  I've  got  a  grant 
fer  it." 

"  A  Henderson  grant !  "  cried  the  Major  ;  "  'tis  so  much 
worthless  paper." 

"I  reckon  it's  good  enough  fer  me,"  answered  Tom.  "It 
come  from  those  who  blazed  their  way  out  here  and  druv 
the  redskins  oft'.  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  this  new 
fangled  law,  but  'tis  a  queer  thing  to  my  thinkin'  if  them 
that  fit  fer  a  place  ain't  got  the  fust  right  to  it." 

Major  Colfax  turned  to  Colonel  Clark  with  marked 
impatience. 

"  I  told  you  it  would  be  useless,  Clark,"  said  he.  "  I 
care  not  a  fig  for  a  few  paltry  acres,  and  as  God  hears  me 
I'm  a  reasonable  man."  (He  did  not  look  it  then.) 
"Bat  I  swear  by  the  evangels  I'll  let  no  squatter  have  the 
better  of  me.  I  did  not  serve  Virginia  for  gold  or  land, 
but  I  lost  my  fortune  in  that  service,  and  before  I  know 
it  these  backwoodsmen  will  have  every  acre  of  my  grant. 


WE   GO  TO  DANVILLE  283 

It's  an  old  story,"  said  Mr.  Colfax,  hotly,  "  and  why  the 
devil  did  we  fight  England  if  it  wasn't  that  every  man 
should  have  his  rights  ?  By  God,  I'll  not  be  frightened  or 
wheedled  out  of  mine.  I  sent  an  agent  to  Kentucky  to 
deal  politely  and  reasonably  with  these  gentry.  What 
did  they  do  to  him  ?  Some  of  them  threw  him  out  neck 
and  crop.  And  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  Major  Colfax, 
fixing  a  piercing  eye  upon  Tom,  "  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  it 
was  this  worthy  sergeant  of  yours  who  came  near  to  hang 
ing  him,  and  made  the  poor  devil  flee  Kentucky  for  his 
life." 

This  remark  brought  me  near  to  an  untimely  laugh  at 
the  remembrance  of  Mr.  Potts,  and  this  though  I  was 
far  too  sober  over  the  outcome  of  the  conference.  Colonel 
Clark  seized  hold  of  a  chair  and  pushed  it  under  Major 
Colfax. 

"  Sit  down,  gentlemen,  we  are  not  so  far  apart,"  said 
the  Colonel,  coolly.  The  slovenly  negro  lad  passing  at 
that  time,  he  caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  "  Here,  boy, 
a  bowl  of  toddy,  quick.  And  mind  you  brew  it  strong. 
Now,  Tom,"  said  he,  "  what  is  this  fine  tale  about  a 
hanging  ?  " 

"  'Twan't  nothin',"  said  Tom. 

"  You  tell  me  you  didn't  try  to  hang  Mr.  Potts ! " 
cried  Major  Colfax. 

"  I  tell  you  nothin',"  said  Tom,  and  his  jaw  was  set 
more  stubbornly  than  ever. 

Major  Colfax  glanced  at  Colonel  Clark. 

"  You  see  !  "  he  said  a  little  triumphantly. 

I  could  hold  my  tongue  no  longer. 

"Major  Colfax  is  unjust,  sir,"  I  cried.  "'Twas  Tom 
saved  the  man  from  hanging." 

"  Eh  ? "  says  Colonel  Clark,  turning  to  me  sharply. 
"  So  you  had  a  hand  in  this,  Davy.  I  might  have  guessed 
as  much." 

"  Who  the  devil  is  this  ?  "  says  Mr.  Colfax. 

"A  sort  of  ward  of  mine,"  answers  the  Colonel. 
"  Drummer  boy,  financier,  strategist,  in  my  Illinois  cam 
paign.  Allow  me  to  present  to  you,  Major,  Mr.  David 


284  THE   CROSSING 

Ritchie.  When  my  men  objected  to  marching  through 
ice-skimmed  water  up  to  their  necks,  Mr.  Ritchie  showed 
them  how." 

"  God  bless  my  soul  !  "  exclaimed  the  Major,  staring  at 
me  from  under  his  black  eyebrows,  "he  was  but  a 
child." 

"  With  an  old  head  on  his  shoulders,"  said  the  Colonel, 
and  his  banter  made  me  flush. 

The  negro  boy  arriving  with  the  toddy,  Colonel  Clark 
served  out  three  generous  gourdfuls,  a  smaller  one  for  me. 
"  Your  health,  my  friends,  and  I  drink  to  a  peaceful 
settlement." 

"  You  may  drink  to  the  devil  if  you  like,"  says  Major 
Colfax,  glaring  at  Tom. 

"Come,  Davy,"  said  Colonel  Clark,  when  he  had  taken 
half  the  gourd,  "  let's  have  the  tale.  I'll  warrant  you're 
behind  this." 

I  flushed  again,  and  began  by  stammering.  For  I  had 
a  great  fear  that  Major  Colfax's  temper  would  fly  into  bits 
when  he  heard  it. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  was  grinding  corn  at  the  mill 
when  the  man  came.  I  thought  him  a  smooth-mannered 
person,  and  he  did  not  give  his  business.  He  was  just 
for  wheedling  me.  *  And  was  this  McChesney's  mill  ? ' 
said  he.  '  Ay,'  said  I.  '  Thomas  McChesney  ?  '  '  Ay,' 
said  I.  Then  he  was  all  for  praise  of  Thomas  McChesney. 
'  Where  is  he  ?  '  said  he.  '  He  is  at  the  far  pasture,'  said 
I,  'and  may  be  looked  for  any  moment.'  Whereupon  he 
sits  down  and  tries  to  worm  out  of  me  the  business  of  the 
mill,  the  yield  of  the  land.  After  that  he  begins  to  talk 
about  the  great  people  he  knows,  Sevier  and  Shelby  and 
Robertson  and  Boone  and  the  like.  Ay,  and  his  intimates, 
the  Randolphs  and  the  Popes  and  the  Colfaxes  in  Vir 
ginia.  'Twas  then  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  Colonel  Camp 
bell  of  Abingdon." 

"  And  what  deviltry  was  that  ?  "  demanded  the  Colonel, 
as  he  dipped  himself  more  of  the  toddy. 

"  I'll  come  to  it,  sir.  Yes,  Colonel  Campbell  was  his 
intimate,  and  ranted  if  he  did  not  tarry  a  week  with  him 


WE  GO   TO  DANVILLE  286 

at  Abingdon  on  his  journeys.  After  that  he  follows  me 
to  the  cabin,  and  sees  Polly  Ann  and  Tom  and  the  children 
on  the  floor  poking  a  'possum.  '  Ah,'  says  he,  in  his  softest 
voice,  '  a  pleasant  family  scene.  And  this  is  Mr.  McChes- 
ney  ?  '  '  I'm  your  man,'  says  Tom.  Then  he  praised  the 
mill  site  and  the  land  all  over  again.  '  'Tis  good  enough 
for  a  farmer/  says  Tom.  '  Who  holds  under  Henderson's 
grant,'  I  cried.  '  'Twas  that  you  wished  to  say  an  hour 
ago,'  and  I  saw  I  had  caught  him  fair." 

"  By  the  eternal  !  "  cried  Colonel  Clark,  bringing  down 
his  fist  upon  the  table.  "  And  what  then  ?  " 

I  glanced  at  Major  Colfax,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could 
make  nothing  of  his  look. 

"  And  what  did  your  man  say  ?  "  said  Colonel  Clark. 

"  He  called  on  the  devil  to  bite  me,  sir,"  I  answered. 
The  Colonel  put  down  his  gourd  and  began  to  laugh. 
The  Major  was  looking  at  me  fixedly. 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  It  was  then  Polly  Ann  called  him  a  thief  to  take 
away  the  land  Tom  had  fought  for  and  paid  for  and 
tilled.  The  man  was  all  politeness  once  more,  said  that 
the  matter  was  unfortunate,  and  that  a  new  and  good 
title  might  be  had  for  a  few  skins." 

"  He  said  that  ?  "  interrupted  Major  Colfax,  half  rising 
in  his  chair.  "  He  was  a  damned  scoundrel." 

"  So  I  thought,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  The  devil  you  did !  "  said  the  Major. 

"  Tut,  Colfax,"  said  the  Colonel,  pulling  him  by  the 
sleeve  of  his  greatcoat,  "  sit  down  and  let  the  lad  finish. 
And  then  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Boone  had  told  me  of  a  land  agent  who  had  made 
off  with  Colonel  Campbell's  silver  spoons  from  Abingdon, 
and  how  the  Colonel  had  ridden  east  and  west  after  him 
for  a  week  with  a  rope  hanging  on  his  saddle.  I  began 
to  tell  this  story,  and  instead  of  the  description  of  Mr. 
Boone's  man,  I  put  in  that  of  Mr.  Potts,  —  in  height  some 
five  feet  nine,  spare,  of  sallow  complexion  and  a  green 
greatcoat. 

Major  Colfax  leaped  up  in  his  chair. 


286  THE  CROSSING 

"  Great  Jehovah  !  "  he  shouted,  "  you  described  the 
wrong  man." 

Colonel  Clark  roared  with  laughter,  thereby  spilling 
some  of  his  toddy. 

"  I'll  warrant  he  did  so,"  he  cried ;  "  and  I'll  warrant 
your  agent  went  white  as  birch  bark.  Go  on,  Davy." 

"  There's  not  a  great  deal  more,  sir,"  I  answered,  look 
ing  apprehensively  at  Major  Colfax,  Avho  still  stood. 
*'  The  man  vowed  I  lied,  but  Tom  laid  hold  of  him  and 
was  for  hurrying  him  off  to  Harrodstown  at  once." 

"  Which  would  ill  have  suited  your  purpose,"  put  in  the 
Colonel.  "  And  what  did  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"  We  put  him  in  a  loft,  sir,  and  then  I  told  Tom  that 
he  was  not  Campbell's  thief  at  all.  But  I  had  a  craving 
to  scare  the  man  out  of  Kentucky.  So  I  rode  off  to  the 
neighbors  and  gave  them  the  tale,  and  bade  them  come 
after  nightfall  as  though  to  hang  Campbell's  thief,  which 
they  did,  and  they  were  near  to  smashing  the  door  trying 
to  get  in  the  cabin.  Tom  told  them  the  rascal  had 
escaped,  but  they  must  needs  come  in  and  have  jigs  and 
toddies  until  midnight.  When  they  were  gone,  and  we 
called  down  the  man  from  the  loft,  he  was  in  such  a  state 
that  he  could  scarce  find  the  rungs  of  the  ladder  with  his 
feet.  He  rode  away  into  the  night,  and  that  was  the  last 
we  heard  of  him.  Tom  was  not  to  blame,  sir." 

Colonel  Clark  was  speechless.  And  when  for  the 
moment  he  would  conquer  his  mirth,  a  glance  at  Major 
Colfax  would  set  him  off  again  in  laughter.  I  was 
puzzled.  I  thought  my  Colonel  more  human  than  of  old. 

"  How  now,  Colfax  ?  "  he  cried,  giving  a  poke  to  the 
Major's  ribs;  "you  hold  the  sequel  to  this  farce." 

The  Major's  face  was  purple,  —  with  what  emotion  I 
could  not  say.  Suddenly  he  swung  full  at  me. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  were  the  general  of 
this  hoax  —  yon  ?  "  he  demanded  in  a  strange  voice. 

"The  thing  seemed  an  injustice  to  me,  sir,"  I  replied  in 
self-defence,  "and  the  man  a  rascal." 

"A  rascal!  "  cried  the  Major,  "a  knave,  a  poltroon,  a 
simpleton!  And  he  came  to  me  with  no  tale  of  having 


WE   GO  TO  DANVILLE  287 

been  outwitted  by  a  stripling."  Whereupon  Major  Colfax 
began  to  shake,  gently  at  first,  and  presently  he  was  in 
such  a  gale  of  laughter  that  I  looked  on  him  in  amaze 
ment,  Colonel  Clark  joining  in  again.  The  Major's  eye 
rested  at  length  upon  Tom,  and  gradually  he  grew  calm. 

"  McChesney,"  said  he,  "  we'll  have  no  bickerings  in 
court  among  soldiers.  The  land  is  yours,  and  to-morrow 
my  attorney  shall  give  you  a  deed  of  it.  Your  hand, 
McChesney." 

The  stubbornness  vanished  from  Tom's  face,  and  there 
came  instead  a  dazed  expression  as  he  thrust  a  great,  hard 
hand  into  the  Major's. 

"  'Twan't  the  land,  sir,"  he  stammered ;  "  these  var 
mints  of  settlers  is  gittin'  thick  as  flies  in  July.  'Twas 
Polly  Ann.  I  reckon  I'm  obleeged  to  ye,  Major." 

"There,  there,"  said  the  Major,  "I  thank  the  Lord  I 
came  to  Kentucky  to  see  for  myself.  Damn  the  land.  I 
have  plenty  more, — and  little  else."  He  turned  quizzi 
cally  to  Colonel  Clark,  revealing  a  line  of  strong,  white 
teeth.  "  Suppose  we  drink  a  health  to  your  drummer 
boy,"  said  he,  lifting  up  his  gourd. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  CROSS  THE  MOUNTAINS   ONCE  MORE 

"'Tis  what  ye've  a  right  to,  Davy,"  said  Polly  Ann, 
and  she  handed  me  a  little  buckskin  bag  on  which  she  had 
been  sewing.  I  opened  it  with  trembling  fingers,  and 
poured  out,  chinking  on  the  table,  such  a  motley  collection 
of  coins  as  was  never  seen.  —  Spanish  milled  dollars, 
Engiisn  sovereigns  and  crowns  and  shillings,  paper  issues 
of  the  Confederacy,  and  I  know  not  what  else.  Tom 
looked  on  with  a  grin,  while  little  Tom  and  Peggy 
reached  out  their  hands  in  delight,  their  mother  vigor 
ously  blocking  their  intentions. 

"  Ye've  earned  it  yerself,"  said  Polly  Ann,  forestalling 
my  protest ;  "  'tis  what  ye  got  by  the  mill,  and  I've  laid 
it  by  bit  by  bit  for  yer  eddication." 

"  And  what  do  you  get  ?  "  I  cried,  striving  by  feigned 
anger  to  keep  the  tears  back  from  my  eyes.  "  Have  you 
no  family  to  support  ?  " 

"  Faith,"  she  answered,  "  we  have  the  mill  that  ye  gave 
us,  and  the  farm,  and  Tom's  rifle.  I  re  kon  we'll  fare 
better  than  ye  think,  tho'  we'll  miss  ye  sore  about  the 
place." 

I  picked  out  two  sovereigns  from  the  heap,  dropped 
them  in  the  bag,  and  thrust  it  into  my  hunting  shirt. 

"  There,"  said  I,  my  voice  having  no  great  steadiness, 
"  not  a  penny  more.  I'll  keep  the  bag  for  your  sake, 
Polly  Ann,  and  I'll  take  the  mare  for  Tom's." 

She  had  had  a  song  on  her  lips  ever  since  our  coming 
back  from  Danville,  seven  days  agone,  a  song  on  her  lips 
and  banter  on  her  tongue,  as  she  made  me  a  new  hunting 
shirt  and  breeches  for  the  journey  across  the  mountains, 

288 


I  CROSS  THE  MOUNTAINS  ONCE  MORE      289 

And  now  with  a  sudden  movement  she  burst  into  tears 
and  flung  her  arms  about  my  neck. 

"Oh,  Davy,  'tis  no  time  to  be  stubborn,"  she  sobbed, 
"  and  eddication  is  a  costly  thing.  Ever  sence  I  found  ye 
on  the  trace,  years  ago,  I've  thought  of  ye  one  day  as  a 
great  man.  And  when  ye  come  back  to  us  so  big  and 
1'arned,  I'd  wish  to  be  saying  with  pride  that  I  helped 

ye." 

"  And  who  else,  Polly  Ann  ? "  I  faltered,  my  heart 
racked  with  the  parting.  "You  found  me  a  homeless 
waif,  and  you  gave  me  a  home  and  a  father  and  mother." 

"  Davy,  ye'll  not  forget  us  when  ye're  great,  I  know 
ye'll  not.  "Us  not  in  ye." 

She  stood  back  and  smiled  at  me  through  her  tears. 
The  light  of  heaven  was  in  that  smile,  and  I  have 
dreamed  of  it  even  since  age  has  crept  upon  me.  Truly, 
God  sets  his  own  mark  on  the  pure  in  heart,  on  the 
unselfish. 

I  glanced  for  the  last  time  around  the  rude  cabin, 
every  timber  of  which  was  dedicated  to  our  sacrifices  and 
our  love  :  the  fireplace  with  its  rough  stones,  on  the  pegs 
the  quaint  butternut  garments  which  Polly  Ann  had 
stitched,  the  baby  in  his  bark  cradle,  the  rough  bedstead 
and  the  little  trundle  pushed  under  it,  —  and  the  very 
homely  odor  of  the  place  is  dear  to  me  yet.  Despite  the 
rigors  and  the  dangers  of  my  life  here,  should  I  ever 
again  find  such  happiness  and  peace  in  the  world  ?  The 
children  clung  to  my  knees;  and  with  a  "God  bless  ye, 
Davy,  and  come  back  to  us,"  Tom  squeezed  my  hand 
until  I  winced  with  pain.  I  leaped  on  the  mare,  and 
with  blinded  eyes  rode  down  the  familiar  trail,  past  the 
mill,  to  Harrodsburg. 

There  Mr.  Neville  Colfax  was  waiting  to  take  me 
across  the  mountains. 

There  is  a  story  in  every  man's  life,  like  the  kernel  in 
the  shell  of  a  hickory  nut.  I  am  ill  acquainted  with  the 
arts  of  a  biographer,  but  I  seek  to  give  in  these  pages 
little  of  the  shell  and  the  whole  of  the  kernel  of  mine. 
'Twould  be  unwise  and  tiresome  to  recount  the  journey 


290  THE   CROSSING 

over  the  bare  mountains  with  my  new  friend  and  bene 
factor.  He  was  a  strange  gentleman,  now  jolly  enough 
to  make  me  shake  with  laughter  and  forget  the  sorrow  of 
my  parting,  now  moody  for  a  night  and  a  day  ;  now  he 
was  all  sweetness,  now  all  fire  ;  now  he  was  abstemious, 
now  self-indulgent  and  prodigal.  He  had  a  will  like 
flint,  and  under  it  a  soft  heart.  Cross  his  moods,  and  he 
hated  you.  I  never  thought  to  cross  them,  therefore  he 
called  me  Davy,  and  his  friendliness  grew  with  our  jour 
ney.  His  anger  turned  against  rocks  and  rivers,  land 
lords  and  emigrants,  but  never  against  me.  And  for 
this  I  was  silently  thankful. 

And  how  had  he  come  to  take  me  over  the  mountains, 
and  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  studying  law  ?  Mindful  of 
the  kernel  of  my  story,  I  have  shortened  the  chapter  to 
tell  you  out  of  the  proper  place.  Major  Colfax  had  made 
Tom  and  me  sup  with  himself  and  Colonel  Clark  at  the 
inn  in  Danville.  And  so  pleased  had  the  Major  professed 
himself  with  my  story  of  having  outwitted  his  agent,  that 
he  must  needs  have  more  of  my  adventures.  Colonel 
Clark  gave  him  some,  and  Tom,  —  his  tongue  loosed  by 
the  toddy,  —  others.  And  the  Colonel  added  to  the  debt 
I  owed  him  by  suggesting  that  Major  Colfax  take  me  to 
Virginia  and  recommend  me  to  a  lawyer  there. 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  Major,  "  I  will  do  more.  I  like  the 
lad,  for  he  is  modest  despite  the  way  you  have  paraded 
him.  I  have  an  uncle  in  Richmond,  Judge  Wentworth, 
to  whom  I  will  take  him  in  person.  And  when  the 
Judge  has  done  with,  him,  if  he  is  not  flayed  and  tattooed 
with  Blackstone,  you  may  flay  and  tattoo  me." 

Thus  did  I  break  through  my  environment.  And  it 
was  settled  that  I  should  meet  the  Major  in  seven  days  at 
Harrodstown. 

Once  in  the  journey  did  the  Major  make  mention  of  a 
subject  which  had  troubled  me. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  Clark  has  changed.  He  is  not  the 
same  man  he  was  when  I  saw  him  in  Williamsburg  de 
manding  supplies  for  his  campaign." 

"  Virginia  has  used  him  shamefully,  sir,"  I  answered, 


I  CROSS  THE  MOUNTAINS   ONCE  MORE      291 

and  suddenly  there  came  flooding  to  my  mind  things  I 
had  heard  the  Colonel  say  in  the  campaign. 

"  Commonwealths  have  short  memories,"  said  the  Major  : 
"they  will  accept  any  sacrifice  with  a  smile.  Shakespeare, 
I  believe,  speaks  of  royal  ingratitude  —  he  knew  not 
commonwealths.  Clark  was  close-lipped  once,  not  given 
to  levity  and  —  to  toddy.  There,  there,  he  is  my  friend 
as  well  as  yours,  and  I  will  prove  it  by  pushing  his  cause 
in  Virginia.  Is  yours  Scotch  anger  ?  Then  the  devil 
fend  me  from  it.  A  monarch  would  have  given  him  fifty 
thousand  acres  on  the  Wabash,  a  palace,  and  a  sufficient 
annuity.  Virginia  has  given  him  a  sword,  eight  thousand 
wild  acres  to  be  sure,  repudiated  the  debts  of  his  army, 
and  left  him  to  starve.  Is  there  no  room  for  a  genius 
in  our  infant  military  establishment  ?  " 

At  length,  as  Christmas  drew  near,  we  came  to  Major 
Colfax's  seat,  some  forty  miles  out  of  the  town  of  Rich 
mond.  It  was  called  Neville's  Grange,  the  Major's  grand 
father  having  so  named  it  when  he  came  out  from  England 
some  sixty  years  before.  It  was  a  huge,  rambling,  draughty 
house  of  wood,  —  mortgaged,  so  the  Major  cheerfully 
informed  me,  thanks  to  the  patriotism  of  the  family.  At 
Neville's  Grange  the  Major  kept  a  somewhat  roisterous 
bachelor's  hall.  The  place  was  overrun  with  negroes  and 
dogs,  and  scarce  a  night  went  by  that  there  was  not 
merrymaking  in  the  house  with  the  neighbors.  The 
time  passed  pleasantly  enough  until  one  frosty  January 
morning  Major  Colfax  had  a  twinge  of  remembrance, 
cried  out  for  horses,  took  me  into  Richmond,  and  presented 
me  to  that  very  learned  and  decorous  gentleman,  Judge 
Wentworth. 

My  studies  began  within  the  hour  of  my  arrival. 


CHAPTER  V 

I  MEET    AN   OLD   BEDFELLOW 

I  SHALL  burden  no  one  with  the  dry  chronicles  of  a 
law  office.  The  acquirement  of  learning  is  a  slow  process 
in  life,  and  perchance  a  slower  one  in  the  telling.  I  lacked 
not  application  during  the  three  years  of  my  stay  in 
Richmond,  and  to  earn  my  living  I  worked  at  such  odd 
tasks  as  came  my  way. 

The  Judge  resembled  Major  Colfax  in  but  one  trait : 
he  was  choleric.  But  he  was  painstaking  and  cautious, 
and  I  soon  found  out  that  he  looked  askance  upon  any  one 
whom  his  nephew  might  recommend.  He  liked  the 
Major,  but  he  vowed  him  to  be  a  roisterer  and  spend 
thrift,  and  one  day,  some  months  after  my  advent,  the 
Judge  asked  me  flatly  how  I  came  to  fall  in  with  Major 
Colfax.  I  told  him.  At  the  end  of  this  conversation  he 
took  my  breath  away  by  bidding  me  come  to  live  with 
him.  Like  many  lawyers  of  that  time,  he  had  a  little 
house  in  one  corner  of  his  grounds  for  his  office.  It  &tood 
under  great  spreading  trees,  and  there  I  was  wont  to  sit 
through  many  a  summer  day  wrestling  with  the  authorities. 
In  the  evenings  we  would  have  political  arguments,  for 
the  Confederacy  was  in  a  seething  state  between  the 
Federalists  and  the  Republicans  over  the  new  Constitution, 
now  ratified.  Between  the  Federalists  and  the  Jacobins, 
I  would  better  say,  for  the  virulence  of  the  French  Revo 
lution  was  soon  to  be  reflected  among  the  parties  on  our 
side.  Kentucky,  swelled  into  an  unmanageable  territory, 
was  come  near  to  rebellion  because  the  government  was 
not  strong  enough  to  wrest  from  Spain  the  free  naviga 
tion  of  the  Mississippi. 


I  MEET  AN   OLD  BEDFELLOW  293 

And  yet  I  yearned  to  go  back,  and  looked  forward 
eagerly  to  the  time  when  I  should  have  stored  enough  in 
my  head  to  gain  admission  to  the  bar.  I  was  therefore 
greatly  embarrassed,  when  my  examinations  came,  by  an 
offer  from  Judge  Wentworth  to  stay  in  Richmond  and 
help  him  with  his  practice.  It  was  an  offer  not  to  be 
lightly  set  aside,  and  yet  I  had  made  up  my  mind.  He 
flew  into  a  passion  because  of  my  desire  to  return  to  a 
wild  country  of  outlaws  and  vagabonds. 

"  Why,  damme,"  he  cried,  "  Kentucky  and  this  pretty 
State  of  Franklin  which  desired  to  chip  off  from  North 
Carolina  are  traitorous  places.  Disloyal  to  Congress  ! 
Intriguing  with  a  Spanish  minister  and  the  Spanish  gov 
ernor  of  Louisiana  to  secede  from  their  own  people  and 
join  the  King  of  Spain.  Bah  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  if  our  new 
Federal  Constitution  is  adopted  I  would  hang  Jack  Sevier 
of  Franklin  and  your  Kentuckian  Wilkinson  to  the  high 
est  trees  west  of  the  mountains." 

I  can  see  the  little  gentleman  as  he  spoke,  his  black 
broadcloth  coat  and  lace  ruflies,  his  hand  clutching  the 
gold  head  of  his  cane,  his  face  screwed  up  with  indigna 
tion  under  his  white  wig.  It  was  on  a  Sunday,  and  he 
was  standing  by  the  lilac  bushes  on  the  lawn  in  front  of 
his  square  brick  house. 

"  David,"  said  he,  more  calmly,  "  I  trust  I  have  taught 
you  something  besides  the  law.  I  trust  I  have  taught  you 
that  a  strong  Federal  government  alone  will  be  the  salva 
tion  of  our  country." 

"  You  cannot  blame  Kentucky  greatly,  sir,"  said  I, 
feeling  that  I  must  stand  up  for  my  friends.  "  The 
Federal  government  has  done  little  enough  for  its  people, 
and  treated  them  to  a  deal  of  neglect.  They  won  that 
western  country  for  themselves  with  no  Federal  nor  Vir 
ginia  or  North  Carolina  troops  to  help  them.  No  man 
east  of  the  mountains  knows  what  that  fight  has  been. 
No  man  east  of  the  mountains  knows  the  horror  of  that 
Indian  warfare.  This  government  gives  them  no  protec 
tion  now.  Nay,  Congress  cannot  even  procure  for  them 
an  outlet  for  their  commerce.  They  must  trade  or  perish. 


294  THE   CROSSING 

Spain  closes  the  Mississippi,  arrests  our  merchants,  seizes 
their  goods,  and  often  throws  them  into  prison.  No 
wonder  they  scorn  the  Congress  as  weak  and  impotent." 

The  Judge  stared  at  me  aghast.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  had  dared  oppose  him  on  this  subject. 

"  What,"  he  sputtered,  "  what  ?  You  are  a  Separatist, 
—  you  whom  I  have  received  into  the  bosom  of  my 
family  ! "  Seizing  the  cane  at  the  middle,  he  brandished 
it  in  my  face. 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,  sir,"  said  I.  "  You  have 
given  me  books  to  read,  and  have  taught  me  what  may 
be  the  destiny  of  our  nation  on  this  continent.  But  you 
must  forgive  a  people  whose  lives  have  been  spent  in  a 
fierce  struggle  for  their  homes,  whose  families  have 
nearly  all  lost  some  member  by  massacre,  who  are  sepa 
rated  by  hundreds  of  miles  of  wilderness  from  you." 

He  looked  at  me  speechless,  and  turned  and  walked 
into  the  house.  I  thought  I  had  sinned  past  forgiveness, 
and  I  was  beyond  description  uncomfortable,  for  he  had 
been  like  a  parent  to  me.  But  the  next  morning,  at  halt 
after  seven,  he  walked  into  the  little  office  and  laid  down 
some  gold  pieces  on  my  table.  Gold  was  very  scarce  in 
those  days. 

"  They  are  for  your  journey,  David,"  said  he.  "  My 
only  comfort  in  your  going  back  is  that  you  may  grow  up 
to  put  some  temperance  into  their  wild  heads.  I  have  a 
commission  for  you  at  Jonesboro,  in  what  was  once  the 
unspeakable  State  of  Franklin.  You  can  stop  there  on 
your  way  to  Kentucky."  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
great  bulky  letter,  addressed  to  "  Thomas  Wright, 
Esquire,  Barrister-at-law  in  Jonesboro,  North  Carolina." 
For  the  good  gentleman  could  not  bring  himself  to  write 
Franklin. 

It  was  late  in  September  of  the  year  1788  when  I  set 
out  on  my  homeward  way  —  for  Kentucky  was  home  to 
me.  I  was  going  back  to  Polly  Ann  and  Tom,  and  visions 
of  that  home-coming  rose  before  my  eyes  as  I  rode.  In  a 
packet  in  my  saddle-bags  were  some  dozen  letters  which 
Mr.  Wrrenn,  the  schoolmaster  at  Harrodstown,  had  writ 


I  MEET  AN   OLD  BEDFELLOW  295 

at  Polly  Ann's  bidding.  I  have  the  letters  yet.  For  Mr. 
Wrenn  was  plainly  an  artist,  and  had  set  down  on  the 
paper  the  words  just  as  they  had  flowed  from  her  heart. 
Ay,  and  there  was  news  in  the  letters,  though  not  sur 
prising  news  among  those  pioneer  families  whom  God 
blessed  so  abundantly.  Since  David  Ritchie  McChesney 
(I  mention  the  name  with  pride)  had  risen  above  the 
necessities  of  a  bark  cradle,  two  more  had  succeeded  him, 
a  brother  and  a  sister.  I  spurred  my  horse  onward,  and 
thought  impatiently  of  the  weary  leagues  between  my 
family  and  me. 

I  have  often  pictured  myself  on  that  journey.  I  was 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  though  one  would  have  called  me 
older.  My  looks  were  nothing  to  boast  of,  and  I  was 
grown  up  tall  and  weedy,  so  that  I  must  have  made  quite 
a  comical  sight,  with  my  long  legs  dangling  on  either  side 
of  the  pony.  I  wore  a  suit  of  gray  homespun,  and  in 
my  saddle-bags  I  carried  four  precious  law  books,  the 
stock  in  trade  which  my  generous  patron  had  given  me. 
But  as  I  mounted  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  my  spirits 
rose  too  at  the  prospect  of  the  life  before  me.  The  woods 
were  all  aflame  with  color,  with  wine  and  amber  and  gold, 
and  the  hills  wore  the  misty  mantle  of  shadowy  blue  so 
dear  to  my  youthful  memory.  As  I  left  the  rude  taverns 
of  a  morning  and  jogged  along  the  heights,  I  watched  the 
vapors  rise  and  roll  away  from  the  valleys  far  beneath, 
and  saw  great  flocks  of  ducks  and  swans  and  cackling 
geese  darkening  the  air  in  their  southward  flight.  Strange 
that  I  fell  in  with  no  company,  for  the  trail  leading  into 
the  Tennessee  country  was  widened  and  broadened 
beyond  belief,  and  everywhere  I  came  upon  blackened 
fires  and  abandoned  lean-tos,  and  refuse  bones  gnawed  by 
the  wolves  and  bleached  by  the  weather.  I  slept  in  some 
of  these  lean-tos,  with  my  fire  going  brightly,  indifferent 
to  the  howl  of  wolves  in  chase  or  the  scream  of  a  panther 
pouncing  on  its  prey.  For  I  was  born  of  the  wilderness. 
It  had  no  terrors  for  me,  nor  did  I  ever  feel  alone.  The 
great  cliffs  with  their  clinging,  gnarled  trees,  the  vast 
mountains  clothed  in  the  motley  colors  of  the  autumn, 


296  THE  CROSSING 

the  sweet  and  smoky  smell  of  the  Indian  summer,  —  ali 
were  dear  to  me. 

As  I  drew  near  to  Jonesboro  my  thoughts  began  to 
dwell  upon  that  strange  and  fascinating  man  who  had 
entertained  Polly  Ann  and  Tom  and  me  so  lavishly  on 
our  way  to  Kentucky,  —  Captain  John  Sevier.  For  he 
had  made  a  great  noise  in  the  world  since  then,  and  the 
wrath  of  such  men  as  my  late  patron  was  heavy  upon  him. 
Yes,  John  Sevier,  Nollichucky  Jack,  had  been  a  king  in 
all  but  name  since  I  had  seen  him,  the  head  of  such 
a  principality  as  stirred  the  blood  to  read  about.  It 
comprised  the  Watauga  settlement  among  the  mountains 
of  what  is  now  Tennessee,  and  was  called  prosaically  (as 
is  the  wont  of  the  Anglo-Saxon)  the  free  State  of 
Franklin.  There  were  certain  conservative  and  unim 
aginative  souls  in  this  mountain  principality  who  for 
various  reasons  held  their  old  allegiance  to  the  State  of 
North  Carolina.  One  Colonel  Tipton  led  these  loyalist 
forces,  and  armed  partisans  of  either  side  had  for  some 
years  ridden  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  land,  burning 
and  pillaging  and  slaying.  We  in  Virginia  had  heard  of 
two  sets  of  courts  in  Franklin,  of  two  sets  of  legislators. 
But  of  late  the  rumor  had  grown  persistently  that  Nolli 
chucky  Jack  was  now  a  kind  of  fugitive,  and  that  he  had 
passed  the  summer  pleasantly  enough  fighting  Indians  in 
the  vicinity  of  Nick-a-jack  Cave. 

It  was  court  day  as  I  rode  into  the  little  town  of  Jones 
boro,  the  air  sparkling  like  a  blue  diamond  over  the 
mountain  crests,  and  I  drew  deep  into  my  lungs  once 
more  the  scent  of  the  frontier  life  I  had  loved  so  well. 
In  the  streets  currents  of  excited  men  flowed  and  backed 
and  eddied,  backwoodsmen  and  farmers  in  the  familiar 
hunting  shirts  of  hide  or  homespun,  and  lawyers  in  dress 
less  rude.  A  line  of  horses  stood  kicking  and  switching 
their  tails  in  front  of  the  log  tavern,  rough  carts  and 
wagons  had  been  left  here  and  there  with  their  poles  on  the 
ground,  and  between  these,  piles  of  skins  were  heaped  up 
and  bags  of  corn  and  grain.  The  log  meeting-house  was 
deserted,  but  the  court-house  was  the  centre  of  such  a 


I  MEET  AN   OLD   BEDFELLOW  297 

swirling  crowd  as  I  had  often  seen  at  Harrodstown. 
Now  there  are  brawls  and  brawls,  and  I  should  have 
thought  with  shame  of  my  Kentucky  bringing-up  had  I 
not  perceived  that  this  was  no  ordinary  court  day,  and 
that  an  unusual  excitement  was  in  the  wind. 

Tying  my  horse,  and  making  my  way  through  the  press 
in  front  of  the  tavern  door,  I  entered  the  common  room, 
and  found  it  stifling,  brawling  and  drinking  going  on 
apace.  Scarce  had  I  found  a  seat  before  the  whole  room 
was  emptied  by  one  consent,  all  crowding  out  of  the  door 
after  two  men  who  began  a  rough-and-tumble  fight  in  the 
street.  I  had  seen  rough-and-tumble  fights  in  Kentucky, 
and  if  I  have  forborne  to  speak  of  them  it  is  because  there 
always  has  been  within  me  a  loathing  for  them.  And  so 
I  sat  quietly  in  the  common  room  until  the  landlord  came. 
I  asked  him  if  he  could  direct  me  to  Mr.  Wright's  house, 
as  I  had  a  letter  for  that  gentleman.  His  answer  was  to 
grin  at  me  incredulously. 

"  I  reckoned  you  wah'nt  from  these  parts,"  said  he. 
"  Wright's  —  out  o'  town." 

"  What  is  the  excitement  ?  "  I  demanded. 

He  stared  at  me. 

"Nollichucky  Jack's  been  heah,  in  Jonesboro,  young 
man,"  said  he. 

"  What,"  I  exclaimed,  "  Colonel  Sevier  ?  " 

"Ay,  Sevier,"  he  repeated.  "With  Martin  and  Tipton 
and  all  the  Caroliny  men  right  heah,  having  a  council  of 
mility  officers  in  the  coijrt-house,  in  rides  Jack  with  his 
frontier  boys  like  a  whirlwind.  He  bean't  afeard  of  'em, 
and  a  bench  warrant  out  ag'in  him  for  high  treason. 
Never  seed  sech  a  recklessness.  Never  had  sech  a  jam 
boree  sence  I  kept  the  tavern.  They  was  in  this  here 
room  most  of  the  day,  and  they  was  five  fights  before  they 
set  down  to  dinner." 

"And  Colonel  Tipton?"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  Tipton,"  said  he,  "  he  hain't  afeard  neither,  but  he 
hain't  got  men  enough." 

"  And  where  is  Sevier  now  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  How  long  hev  you  ben  in  town  ?  "  was  his  answer. 


298  THE   CROSSING 

I  told  him. 

"  Wai,"  said  he,  shifting  his  tobacco  from  one  sallow 
cheek  to  the  other,  "  I  reckon  he  and  his  boys  rud  out 
just  afore  you  come  in.  Mark  me,"  he  added,  "  when  I 
tell  ye  there'll  be  trouble  yet.  Tipton  and  Martin  and  the 
Caroliny  folks  is  burnin'  mad  with  Chucky  Jack  for  the 
murder  of  Corn  Tassel  and  other  peaceful  chiefs.  But 
Jack  hez  a  wild  lot  with  him,  —  some  of  the  Nollichucky 
Cave  traders,  and  there's  one  young  lad  that  looks  like  he 
was  a  gentleman  once.  I  reckon  Jack  himself  wouldn't 
like  to  get  into  a  fight  with  him.  He's  a  wild  one. 
Great  Goliah,"  he  exclaimed,  running  to  the  door,  "ef 
thar  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  another  fight !  Never  seed  sech 
a  day  in  Jonesboro." 

I  likewise  ran  to  the  door,  and  this  fight  interested  me. 
There  was  a  great,  black-bearded  mountaineer-farmer- 
desperado  in  the  midst  of  a  circle,  pouring  out  a  torrent 
of  abuse  at  a  tall  young  man. 

"  That  thar's  Hump  Gibson,"  said  the  landlord,  genially 
pointing  out  the  black-bearded  ruffian,  "and  the  young 
lawyer  feller  hez  git  a  jedgment  ag'in  him.  He's  got 
spunk,  but  I  reckon  Hump  '11  t'ar  the  innards  out'n  him 
ef  he  stands  thar  a  great  while." 

"  Ye'll  git  jedgment  ag'in  me,  ye  Caroliny  splinter,  will 
ye?"  yelled  Mr.  Gibson,  with  an  oath.  "I'll  pay  Bill 
Wilder  the  skins  when  I  git  ready,  and  all  the  pinhook 
lawyers  in  Washington  County  won't  budge  me  a  mite." 

"  You'll  pay  Bill  Wilder  or  go  to  jail,  by  the  eternal," 
cried  the  young  man,  quite  as  angrily,  whereupon  I 
looked  upon  him  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and  com 
miseration,  with  a  gulping  certainty  in  my  throat  that  I 
was  about  to  see  murder  done.  He  was  a  strange  young 
man,  with  the  rare  marked  look  that  would  compel  even 
a  poor  memory  to  pick  him  out  again.  For  example,  he 
was  very  tall  and  very  slim,  with  red  hair  blown  every 
which  way  over  a  high  and  towering  forehead  that 
seemed  as  long  as  the  face  under  it.  The  face,  too,  was 
long,  and  all  freckled  by  the  weather.  The  blue  eyes 
held  me  in  wonder,  and  these  blazed  with  such  prodi- 


I  MEET   AN   OLD  BEDFELLOW  299 

gious  wrath  that,  if  a  look  could  have  killed,  Hump 
Gibson  would  have  been  stricken  on  the  spot.  Mr.  Gib 
son  was,  however,  very  much  alive. 

"  Skin  out  o'  here  afore  I  kill  ye,"  he  shouted,  and  he 
charged  at  the  slim  young  man  like  a  buffalo,  while  the 
crowd  held  its  breath.  I,  who  had  looked  upon  cruel 
sights  in  my  day,  was  turning  away  with  a  kind  of  sicken 
ing  when  I  saw  the  slim  young  man  dodge  the  rush.  He 
did  more.  With  two  strides  of  his  long  legs  he  reached 
the  fence,  ripped  off  the  topmost  rail,  and  his  huge  antag 
onist,  having  changed  his  direction  and  coming  at  him 
with  a  bellow,  was  met  with  the  point  of  a  scantling  in  the 
pit  of  his  stomach,  and  Mr.  Gibson  fell  heavily  to  the 
ground.  It  had  all  happened  in  a  twinkling,  and  there 
was  a  moment's  lull  while  the  minds  of  the  onlookers 
needed  readjustment,  and  then  they  gave  vent  to  ecstasies 
of  delight. 

"  Great  Goliah  !  "  cried  the  landlord,  breathlessly,  "  he 
shet  him  up  jest  like  a  jack-knife." 

Awe-struck,  I  looked  at  the  tall  young  man,  and  he 
was  the  very  essence  of  wrath.  Unmindful  of  the  plau 
dits,  he  stood  brandishing  the  fence-rail  over  the  great, 
writhing  figure  on  the  ground.  And  he  was  slobbering. 
I  recall  that  this  fact  gave  a  twinge  to  something  in  my 
memory. 

"  Come  on,  Hump  Gibson,"  he  cried,  "  come  on  !  "  —  at 
which  the  crowd  went  wild  with  pure  joy.  Witticisms  flew. 

"  Thought  ye  was  goin'  to  eat  'im  up,  Hump  ?  "  said  a 
friend. 

"  Ye  ain't  hed  yer  meal  yet,  Hump,"  reminded  another. 

Mr.  Hump  Gibson  arose  slowly  out  of  the  dust,  yet  he 
did  not  stand  straight. 

"  Come  on,  come  on  !  "  cried  the  young  lawyer-fellow, 
and  he  thrust  the  point  of  the  rail  within  a  foot  of  Mr. 
Gibson's  stomach. 

"  Come  on,  Hump  !  "  howled  the  crowd,  but  Mr.  Gibson 
stood  irresolute.  He  lacked  the  supreme  test  of  courage 
which  was  demanded  on  this  occasion.  Then  he  turned 
and  walked  away  very  slowly,  as  though  his  pace  might 


300  THE  CROSSING 

mitigate  in  some  degree  the  shame  of  his  retreat.  The 
young  man  flung  away  the  fence-rail,  and,  thrusting  aside 
the  overzealous  among  his  admirers,  he  strode  past  me 
into  the  tavern,  his  anger  still  hot. 

"  Hooray  fer  Jackson  !  "  they  shouted.  "  Hooray  fer 
Andy  Jackson  !  " 

Andy  Jackson !  Then  I  knew.  Then  I  remembered  a 
slim,  wild,  sandy-haired  boy  digging  his  toes  in  the  red 
mud  long  ago  at  the  Waxhaws  Settlement.  And  I  recalled 
with  a  smile  my  own  fierce  struggle  at  the  schoolhouse 
with  the  same  boy,  and  how  his  slobbering  had  been  my 
salvation.  I  turned  and  went  in  after  him  with  the  land 
lord,  who  was  rubbing  his  hands  with  glee. 

"  I  reckon  Hump  won't  come  crowin'  round  heah  any 
more  co't  days,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  our  host. 

But  Mr.  Jackson  swept  the  room  with  his  eyes  and 
then  glared  at  the  landlord  so  that  he  gave  back. 

"  Where's  my  man  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Your  man,  Mr.  Jackson  ?  "  stammered  the  host. 

"  Great  Jehovah  !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackson,  "  I  believe  he's 
afraid  to  race.  He  had  a  horse  that  could  show  heels  to 
my  Nancy,  did  he  ?  And  he's  gone,  you  say  ?  " 

A  light  seemed  to  dawn  on  the  landlord's  countenance. 

"  God  bless  ye,  Mr.  Jackson  !  "  he  cried,  "  ye  don't  mean 
that  young  daredevil  that  was  with  Sevier  ?  " 

"  With  Sevier  ?  "  says  Jackson. 

"  Ay,"  says  the  landlord ;  "  he's  been  a-fightin'  with 
Sevier  all  summer,  and  I  reckon  he  ain't  afeard  of  nothin' 
any  more  than  you.  Wait  —  his  name  was  Temple  — 
Nick  Temple,  they  called  him." 

"  Nick  Temple  !  "  I  cried,  starting  forward. 

"  Where's  he  gone  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  He  was 
going  to  bet  me  a  six-forty  he  has  at  Nashboro  that  his 
horse  could  beat  mine  on  the  Greasy  Cove  track.  Where's 
he  gone  ?  " 

"  Gone  !  "  said  the  landlord,  apologetically,  "  Nolli- 
chucky  Jack  and  his  boys  left  town  an  hour  ago." 

"  Is  he  a  man  of  honor  or  isn't  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jackson, 
fiercely. 


I   MEET  AN  OLD  BEDFELLOW  301 

"  Lord,  sir,  I  only  seen  him  once,  but  I'd  stake  my  oath 
on  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  Mr.  Temple  has  been  here  — 
Nicholas  Temple  ?  "  I  said. 

The  bewildered  landlord  turned  towards  me  helplessly. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  sir  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Jackson. 

"  Tell  me  what  this  Mr.  Temple  was  like,"  said  I. 

The  landlord's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Faith,  a  thoroughbred  hoss,"  says  he  ;  "  sech  nostrils, 
and  sech  a  gray  eye  with  the  devil  in  it  f er  go  —  yellow 
ha'r,  and  ez  tall  ez  Mr.  Jackson  heah." 

"  And  you  say  he's  gone  off  again  with  Sevier  ?  " 

"  They  rud  into  town  "  (he  lowered  his  voice,  for  the 
room  was  filling),  "snapped  their  fingers  at  Tipton  and 
his  warrant,  and  rud  out  ag'in.  My  God,  but  that  was 
like  Nollichucky  Jack.  Say,  stranger,  when  your  Mr. 
Temple  smiled  —  " 

"  He  is  the  man  !  "  I  cried ;  "  tell  me  where  to  find  him." 

Mr.  Jackson,  who  had  been  divided  between  astonish 
ment  and  impatience  and  anger,  burst  out  again. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  interfering  with  my 
business,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  my  business  too,"  I  answered,  quite  as 
testily ;  "  my  claim  on  Mr.  Temple  is  greater  than  yours." 

"  By  Jehovah  !  "  cried  Jackson,  "  come  outside,  sir, 
come  outside  !  " 

The  landlord  backed  away,  and  the  men  in  the  tavern 
began  to  press  around  us  expectantly. 

"  Gallop  into  him,  Andy  !  "  cried  one. 

"  Don't  let  him  git  near  no  fences,  stranger,"  said 
another. 

Mr.  Jackson  turned  on  this  man  with  such  truculence 
that  he  edged  away  to  the  rear  of  the  room. 

"  Step  out,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  starting  for  the  door 
before  I  could  reply.  I  followed  perforce,  not  without 
misgivings,  the  crowd  pushing  eagerly  after.  Before 
we  reached  the  dusty  street  Jackson  began  pulling  off  his 
coat.  In  a  trice  the  shouting  onlookers  had  made  a  ring, 
and  we  stood  facing  each  other,  he  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 


302  THE  CROSSING 

"  We'll  fight  fair,"  said  he,  his  lips  wetting. 

"Very  good,"  said  I,  "if  you  are  still  accustomed  to 
this  hasty  manner.  You  have  not  asked  my  name,  my 
standing,  nor  my  reasons  for  wanting  Mr.  Temple." 

I  know  not  whether  it  was  what  I  said  that  made  him 
stare,  or  how  I  said  it. 

"  Pistols,  if  you  like,"  said  he. 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  find  Mr.  Temple.  1 
fought  \ou  this  way  once,  and  it's  quicker." 

"  You  fought  me  this  way  once  ?  "  he  repeated.  The 
noise  of  the  crowd  was  hushed,  and  they  drew  nearer  to 
hear. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  lawyer  and  a 
gentleman,  and  so  am  I.  I  do  not  care  to  be  beaten  to  a 
pulp,  but  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  And  I  am  in  a  hurry. 
If  you  will  step  back  into  the  tavern,  I  will  explain  to  you 
my  reasons  for  wishing  to  get  to  Mr.  Temple." 

Mr.  Jackson  stared  at  me  the  more. 

"  By  the  eternal,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  cool  man.  Give 
me  my  coat,"  he  shouted  to  the  bystanders,  and  they 
helped  him  on  with  it.  "  Now,"  said  he,  as  they  made  to 
follow  him,  "keep  back.  I  would  talk  to  this  gentleman. 
By  the  heavens,"  he  cried,  when  he  had  gained  the  room, 
"  I  believe  you  are  not  afraid  of  me.  I  saw  it  in  your 
eyes." 

Then  I  laughed. 

"  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  I,  "  doubtless  you  do  not  remember 
a  homeless  boy  named  David  whom  you  took  to  your 
uncle's  house  in  the  Waxhaws  —  " 

"  I  do,"  he  exclaimed,  "  as  I  live  I  do.  Why,  we  slept 
together." 

"  And  you  stumped  your  toe  getting  into  bed  and 
swore,"  said  I. 

At  that  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  the  landlord  came 
running  across  the  room. 

"And  we  fought  together  at  the  Old  Fields  School. 
Are  you  that  boy  ?  "  and  he  scanned  me  again.  "  By  God, 
I  believe  you  are."  Suddenly  his  face  clouded  once  more. 
"  But  what  about  Temple  ?  "  said  he. 


303 

"  Ah,"  I  answered,  "  I  come  to  that  quickly.  Mr. 
Temple  is  my  cousin.  After  I  left  your  uncle's  house 
my  father  took  me  to  Charlestown." 

"  Is  he  a  Charlestown  Temple  ? "  demanded  Mr. 
Jackson.  "  For  I  spent  some  time  gambling  and  horse- 
racing  with  the  gentry  there,  and  I  know  many  of  them. 
I  was  a  wild  lad  "  (I  repeat  his  exact  words),  "  and  I  ran  up 
a  bill  in  Charlestown  that  would  have  filled  a  folio  volume. 
Faith,  all  I  had  left  me  was  the  clothes  on  my  back  and  a 
good  horse.  I  made  up  my  mind  one  night  that  if  I 
could  pay  my  debts  and  get  out  of  Charlestown  I  would 
go  into  the  back  country  and  study  law  and  sober  down. 
There  was  a  Mr.  Braiden  in  the  ordinary  who  staked  me 
two  hundred  dollars  at  rattle-and-snap  against  my  horse. 
Gad,  sir,  that  was  providence.  I  won.  I  left  Charlestown 
with  honor,  I  studied  law  at  Salisbury  in  North  Carolina, 
and  I  have  conar^  here  to  practise  it." 

"  You  seem  to  have  the  talent,"  said  I,  smiling  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  Hump  Gibson  incident. 

"  That  is  my  history  in  a  nutshell,"  said  Mr.  Jackson. 
"  And  now,"  he  added,  "  since  you  are  Mr.  Temple's  cousin 
and  friend  and  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine  to  boot,  I  will 
tell  you  where  I  think  he  is." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  I'll  stake  a  cowbell  that  Sevier  will  stop  at  the  Widow 
Brown's,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  put  you  on  the  road.  But 
mind  you,  you  are  to  tell  Mr.  Temple  that  he  is  to  come 
back  here  and  race  me  at  Greasy  Cove." 

"  I'll  warrant  him  to  come,"  said  I. 

Whereupon  we  left  the  inn  together,  more  amicably 
than  before.  Mr.  Jackson  had  a  thoroughbred  horse 
near  by  that  was  a  pleasure  to  see,  and  my  admiration  of 
his  mount  seemed  to  set  me  as  firmly  in  Mr.  Jackson's 
esteem  again  as  that  gentleman  himself  sat  in  the  saddle. 
He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  rode  out  with  me  some  dis 
tance  on  the  road,  and  reminded  me  at  the  last  that  Nick 
was  to  race  him. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   WIDOW   BROWN'S 

IT  was  not  to  my  credit  that  I  should  have  lost  the 
trail,  after  Mr.  Jackson  put  me  straight.  But  the  night 
was  dark,  the  country  unknown  to  me,  and  heavily 
wooded  and  mountainous.  In  addition  to  these  things 
my  mind  ran  like  fire.  My  thoughts  sometimes  flew  back 
to  the  wondrous  summer  evening  when  I  trod  the  Nolli- 
chucky  trace  with  Tom  and  Polly  Ann,  when  I  first 
looked  down  upon  the  log  palace  of  that  prince  of  the 
border,  John  Sevier.  Well  I  remembered  him,  broad- 
shouldered,  handsome,  gay,  a  courtier  in  buckskin. 
Small  wonder  he  was  idolized  by  the  Watauga  settlers, 
that  he  had  been  their  leader  in  the  struggle  of  Franklin 
for  liberty.  And  small  wonder  that  Nick  Temple  should 
be  in  his  following. 

Nick  !  My  mind  was  in  a  torment  concerning  him. 
What  of  his  mother?  Should  I  speak  of  having  seen  her? 
I  went  blindly  through  the  woods  for  hours  after  the 
night  fell,  my  horse  stumbling  and  weary,  until  at  length 
I  came  to  a  lonely  clearing  on  the  mountain  side,  and  a 
fierce  pack  of  dogs  dashed  barking  at  my  horse's  heels. 
There  was  a  dark  cabin  ahead,  indistinct  in  the  starlight, 
and  there  I  knocked  until  a  gruff  voice  answered  me  and 
a  tousled  man  came  to  the  door.  Yes,  I  had  missed  the 
trail.  He  shook  his  head  when  I  asked  for  the  Widow 
Brown's,  and  bade  me  share  his  bed  for  the  night.  No,  I 
would  go  on,  I  was  used  to  the  backwoods.  Thereupon 
he  thawed  a  little,  kicked  the  dogs,  and  pointed  to  where 
the  mountain  dipped  against  the  star-studded  sky.  There 
was  a  trail  there  which  led  direct  to  the  Widow  Brown's, 
if  I  could  follow  it.  So  I  left  him. 

304 


THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S  305 

Once  the  fear  had  settled  deeply  of  missing  Nick  at  the 
Widow  Brown's,  I  put  my  mind  on  my  journey,  and 
thanks  to  my  early  training  I  was  able  to  keep  the  trail. 
It  doubled  around  the  spurs,  forded  stony  brooks  in  diag 
onals,  and  often  in  the  darkness  of  the  mountain  forest  I 
had  to  feel  for  the  blazes  on  the  trees.  There  was  no 
making  time.  I  gained  the  notch  with  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  started  on  with  the  descent,  crisscrossing, 
following  a  stream  here  and  a  stream  there,  until  at  length 
the  song  of  the  higher  waters  ceased  and  I  knew  that  I 
was  in  the  valley.  Suddenly  there  was  no  crown-cover 
over  my  head.  I  had  gained  the  road  once  more,  and  I  fol 
lowed  it  hopefully,  avoiding  the  stumps  and  the  deep 
wagon  ruts  where  the  ground  was  spongy. 

The  morning  light  revealed  a  milky  mist  through  which 
the  trees  showed  like  phantoms.  Then  there  came  stains 
upon  the  mist  of  royal  purple,  of  scarlet,  of  yellow  like  a 
mandarin's  robe,  peeps  of  deep  blue  fading  into  azure  as 
the  mist  lifted.  The  fiery  eye  of  the  sun  was  cocked 
over  the  crest,  and  beyond  me  I  saw  a  house  with  its  logs 
all  golden  brown  in  the  level  rays,  the  withered  cornstalks 
orange  among  the  blackened  stumps.  My  horse  stopped 
of  his  own  will  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  A  cock  crew, 
a  lean  hound  prostrate  on  the  porch  of  the  house  rose  to 
his  haunches,  sniffed,  growled,  leaped  down,  and  ran  to 
the  road  and  sniffed  again.  I  listened,  startled,  and 
made  sure  of  the  distant  ring  of  many  hoofs.  And  yet  I 
stayed  there,  irresolute.  Could  it  be  Tipton  and  his  men 
riding  from  Jonesboro  to  capture  Sevier?  The  hoof- 
beats  grew  louder,  and  then  the  hound  in  the  road  gave 
tongue  to  the  short,  sharp  bark  that  is  the  call  to  arms. 
Other  dogs,  hitherto  unseen,  took  up  the  cry,  and  turning 
in  my  saddle  I  saw  a  body  of  men  riding  hard  at  me 
through  the  alley  in  the  forest.  At  their  head,  on  a 
heavy,  strong-legged  horse,  was  one  who  might  have 
stood  for  the  figure  of  turbulence,  and  I  made  no  doubt 
that  this  was  Colonel  Tipton  himself,  —  Colonel  Tipton, 
once  secessionist,  now  champion  of  the  Old  North  State 
and  arch-enemy  of  John  Sevier.  At  sight  of  me  he  reined 


306  THE   CROSSING 

up  so  violently  that  his  horse  went  back  on  his  haunches, 
and  the  men  behind  were  near  overriding  him. 

"  Look  out,  boys,"  he  shouted,  with  a  fierce  oath, 
"  they've  got  guards  out  !  "  He  flung  back  one  hand  to 
his  holster  for  a  pistol,  while  the  other  reached  for  the 
powder  flask  at  his  belt.  He  primed  the  pan,  and,  seeing 
me  immovable,  set  his  horse  forward  at  an  amble,  his  pistol 
at  the  cock. 

"  Who  in  hell  are  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  A  traveller  from  Virginia,"  I  answered. 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  demanded,  with 
another  oath. 

"  I  have  just  this  moment  come  here,"  said  I,  as  calmly 
as  I  might.  "  I  lost  the  trail  in  the  darkness." 

He  glared  at  me,  purpling,  perplexed. 

"  Is  Sevier  there  ?  "  said  he,  pointing  at  the  house. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I. 

Tipton  turned  to  his  men,  who  were  listening. 

"  Surround  the  house,"  he  cried,  "  and  watch  this 
fellow." 

I  rode  on  perforce  towards  the  house  with  Tipton  and 
three  others,  while  his  men  scattered  over  the  corn-field 
and  cursed  the  dogs.  And  then  we  saw  in  the  open  door 
the  figure  of  a  woman  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
We  pulled  up,  five  of  us,  before  the  porch  in  front  of  her. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Brown,"  said  Tipton,  gruffly. 

"  Good  morning,  Colonel,"  answered  the  widow. 

Tipton  leaped  from  his  horse,  flung  the  bridle  to  a  com 
panion,  and  put  his  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  porch  to 
mount.  Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  The  lady 
turned  deftly,  seized  a  chair  from  within,  and  pulled  it 
across  the  threshold.  She  sat  herself  down  firmly,  an 
expression  on  her  face  which  hinted  that  the  late  lamented 
Mr.  Brown  had  been  a  dominated  man.  Colonel  Tipton 
stopped,  staggering  from  the  very  impetus  of  his  charge, 
and  gazed  at  her  blankly. 

"  I  have  come  for  Colonel  Sevier,"  he  blurted.  Arid 
then,  his  anger  rising,  "  I  will  have  no  trifling,  ma'am. 
He  is  in  this  house." 


THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S  307 

"  La  !  you  don't  tell  me,"  answered  the  widow,  in  a  tone 
that  was  wholly  conversational. 

"  He  is  in  this  house,"  shouted  the  Colonel. 

"I  reckon  you've  guessed  wrong,  Colonel,"  said  the 
widow. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  until  Tipton  heard  a  titter 
behind  him.  Then  his  wrath  exploded. 

"  I  have  a  warrant  against  the  scoundrel  for  high 
treason,"  he  cried,  "  and,  by  God,  I  will  search  the  house 
and  serve  it." 

Still  the  widow  sat  tight.  The  Rock  of  Ages  was 
neither  more  movable  nor  calmer  than  she. 

"  Surely,  Colonel,  you  would  not  invade  the  house  of  an 
unprotected  female." 

The  Colonel,  evidently  with  a  great  effort,  throttled  his 
wrath  for  the  jnoment.  His  new  tone  was  apologetic  but 
firm. 

u  I  regret  to  have  to  do  so,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  but  both 
sexes  are  equal  before  the  law." 

"  The  law !  "  repeated  the  widow,  seemingly  tickled 
at  the  word.  She  smiled  indulgently  at  the  Colonel. 
"  What  a  pity,  Mr.  Tipton,  that  the  law  compels  you  to 
arrest  such  a  good  friend  of  yours  as  Colonel  Sevier. 
What  self-sacrifice,  Colonel  Tipton  !  What  nobility  !  " 

There  was  a  second  titter  behind  him,  whereat  he  swung 
round  quickly,  and  the  crimson  veins  in  his  face  looked 
as  if  they  must  burst.  He  saw  me  with  my  hand  over 
my  mouth. 

"  You  warned  him,  damn  you  !  "  he  shouted,  and  turn 
ing  again  leaped  to  the  porch  and  tried  to  squeeze  past 
the  widow  into  the  house. 

"How  dare  you,  sir?"  she  shrieked,  giving  him  a 
vigorous  push  backwards.  The  four  of  us,  his  three  men 
and  myself,  laughed  outright.  Tipton's  rage  leaped  its 
bounds.  He  returned  to  the  attack  again  and  again,  and 
yet  at  the  crucial  moment  his  courage  would  fail  him  and 
he  would  let  the  widow  thrust  him  back.  Suddenly  I 
became  aware  that  there  were  two  new  spectators  of  this 
comedy.  I  started  aud  looked  again,  and  was  near  to 


308  THE  CROSSING 

crying  out  at  sight  of  one  of  them.  The  others  did  cry 
out,  but  Tipton  paid  no  heed. 

Ten  years  had  made  his  figure  more  portly,  but  I  knew 
at  once  the  man  in  the  well-fitting  hunting  shirt,  with  the 
long  hair  flowing  to  his  shoulders,  with  the  keen,  dark 
face  and  courtly  bearing  and  humorous  eyes.  Yes,  humor 
ous  even  now,  for  he  stood,  smiling  at  this  comedy  played 
by  his  enemy,  unmindful  of  his  peril.  The  widow  saw 
him  before  Tipton  did,  so  intent  was  he  on  the  struggle. 

"  Enough  !  "  she  cried,  "  enough,  John  Tipton  !  " 
Tipton  drew  back  involuntarily,  and  a  smile  broadened 
on  the  widow's  face.  "  Shame  on  you  for  doubting  a  lady's 
word  !  Allow  me  to  present  to  you —  Colonel  Sevier." 

Tipton  turned,  stared  as  a  man  might  who  sees  a  ghost, 
and  broke  into  such  profanity  as  I  have  seldom  heard. 

"  By  the  eternal  God,  John  Sevier,"  he  shouted,  tt  I'll 
hang  you  to  the  nearest  tree  !  " 

Colonel  Sevier  merely  made  a  little  ironical  bow  and 
looked  at  the  gentleman  beside  him. 

"  I  have  surrendered  to  Colonel  Love,"  lie  said. 

Tipton  snatched,  from  his  belt  the  pistol  which  he  might 
have  used  on  me,  and  there  flashed  through  my  head  the 
thought  that  some  powder  might  yet  be  held  in  its  pan. 
We  cried  out,  all  of  us,  his  men,  the  widow,  and  myself,  — 
all  save  Sevier,  who  stood  quietly,  smiling.  Suddenly, 
while  we  waited  for  murder,  a  tall  figure  shot  out  of  the 
door  past  the  widow,  the  pistol  flew  out  of  Tipton's  hand, 
and  Tipton  swung  about  with  something  like  a  bellow,  to 
face  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple. 

Well  I  knew  him !  And  oddly  enough  at  that  time 
Riddle's  words  of  long  ago  came  to  me,  "  God  help  the 
woman  you  love  or  the  man  you  fight."  How  shall  I 
describe  him  ?  He  was  thin  even  to  seeming  frailness,  — 
yet  it  was  the  frailness  of  the  race-horse.  The  golden 
hair,  sun-tanned,  awry  across  his  forehead,  the  face  the 
same  thin  and  finely  cut  face  of  the  boy.  The  gray  eyes 
held  an  anger  that  did  not  blaze ;  it  was  far  more  danger 
ous  than  that.  Colonel  John  Tipton  looked,  and  as  I  live 
he  recoiled. 


THB    PISTOL    FLEW    OUT    OF   TlPTON'S    HAND." 


THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S  309 

"  If  you  touch  him,  I'll  kill  you,"  said  Mr.  Temple. 
Nor  did  he  say  it  angrily.  I  marked  for  the  first  time 
that  he  held  a  pistol  in  his  slim  fingers.  What  Tipton 
might  have  done  when  he  swung  to  his  new  bearings  is 
mere  conjecture,  for  Colonel  Sevier  himself  stepped  up  on 
the  porch,  laid  his  hand  on  Temple's  arm,  and  spoke  to  him 
in  a  low  tone.  What  he  said  we  didn't  hear.  The  as 
tonishing  thing  was  that  neither  of  them  for  the  moment 
paid  any  attention  to  the  infuriated  man  beside  them.  I 
saw  Nick's  expression  change.  He  smiled,  —  the  smile 
the  landlord  had  described,  the  smile  that  made  men  and 
women  willing  to  die  for  him.  After  that  Colonel  Sevier 
stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  pistol  from  the  floor  of 
the  porch  and  handed  it  with  a  bow  to  Tipton,  butt  first. 
Tipton  took  OC,  seemingly  without  knowing  why,  and  at 
that  instant  a  negro  boy  came  around  the  house,  leading  a 
horse.  Sevier  mounted  it  without  a  protest  from  any  one. 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

Colonel  Tipton  slipped  his  pistol  back  into  his  belt, 
stepped  down  from  the  porch,  and  leaped  into  his  saddle, 
and  he  and  his  men  rode  off  into  the  stump-lined  alley  in 
the  forest  that  was  called  a  road.  Nick  stood  beside  the 
widow,  staring  after  them  until  they  had  disappeared. 

"  My  horse,  boy  !  "  he  shouted  to  the  gaping  negro,  who 
vanished  on  the  errand. 

"  What  will  you  do,  Mr.  Temple  ?  "  asked  the  widow. 

"  Rescue  him,  ma'am,"  cried  Nick,  beginning  to  pace  up 
and  down.  "I'll  ride  to  Turner's.  Cozby  and  Evans 
are  there,  and  before  night  we  shall  have  made  Jonesboro 
too  hot  to  hold  Tipton  and  his  cutthroats." 

"La,  Mr.  Temple,"  said  the  widow,  with  unfeigned 
admiration,  "  I  never  saw  the  like  of  you.  But  I  know 
John  Tipton,  and  he'll  have  Colonel  Sevier  started  for 
North  Carolina  before  our  boys  can  get  to  Jonesboro." 

"Then  we'll  follow,"  says  Nick,  beginning  to  pace 
again.  Suddenly,  at  a  cry  from  the  widow,  he  stopped 
and  stared  at  me,  a  light  in  his  eye  like  a  point  of  steel. 
His  hand  slipped  to  his  waist. 

"  A  spy,"  he  said,  and  turned  and  smiled  at  the  lady, 


310  THE   CROSSING 

who  was  watching  him  with  a  kind  of  fascination  ;  "  but 
damnably  cool,"  he  continued,  looking  at  me.  "  I  wonder 
if  he  thinks  to  outride  me  on  that  beast  ?  Look  you, 
sir,"  he  cried,  as  Mrs.  Brown's  negro  came  back  strug 
gling  with  a  deep-ribbed,  high-crested  chestnut  that  was 
making  half  circles  on  his  hind  legs,  "  I'll  give  you  to  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  and  lay  you  a  six-forty  against  a  pair 
of  moccasins  that  you  never  get  back  to  Tipton." 

"  God  forbid  that  I  ever  do,"  I  answered  fervently. 

"  What,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  you  here  with  him  on 
this  sneak's  errand  !  " 

"  I  am  here  with  him  on  no  errand,"  said  I.  "  He  and  his 
crew  came  on  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  since  at  the  edge 
of  the  clearing.  Mr.  Temple,  I  am  here  to  find  you,  and 
to  save  time  I  will  ride  with  you." 

"  Egad,  you'll  have  to  ride  like  the  devil  then,"  said 
he,  and  he  stooped  and  snatched  the  widow's  hand  and 
kissed  it  with  a  daring  gallantry  that  I  had  thought  to 
find  in  him.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Temple,  she  said,  —  there  was  a  tremor 
in  her  voice,  —  "  and  may  you  save  our  Jack  !  " 

He  snatched  the  bridle  from  the  boy,  and  with  one 
leap  he  was  on  the  rearing,  wheeling  horse.  "  Come  on," 
he  cried  to  me,  and,  waving  his  hat  at  the  lady  on  the 
porch,  he  started  off  with  a  gallop  up  the  trail  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  that  which  Tipton's  men  had 
taken. 

All  that  I  saw  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple  on  that  ride  to 
Turner's  was  his  back,  and  presently  I  lost  sight  of  that. 
In  truth,  I  never  got  to  Turner's  at  all,  for  I  met  him 
coming  back  at  the  wind's  pace,  a  huge,  swarthy,  deter 
mined  man  at  his  side  and  four  others  spurring  after,  the 
spume  dripping  from  the  horses'  mouths.  They  did  not 
so  much  as  look  at  me  as  they  passed,  and  there  was 
nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  turn  my  tired  beast  and 
follow  at  any  pace  I  could  make  towards  Jonesboro. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  I  reached  the 
town,  the  town  set  down  among  the  hills  like  a  caldron 
boiling  over  with  the  wrath  of  Franklin.  The  news  of 


THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S  311 

the  capture  of  their  beloved  Sevier  had  flown  through  the 
mountains  like  seeds  on  the  autumn  wind,  and  from  north, 
south,  east,  and  west  the  faithful  were  coming  in,  cursing 
Tipton  and  Carolina  as  they  rode. 

I  tethered  my  tired  beast  at  the  first  picket,  and  was  no 
sooner  on  my  feet  than  I  was  caught  in  the  hurrying 
stream  of  the  crowd  and  fairly  pushed  and  beaten  towards 
the  court-house.  Around  it  a  thousand  furious  men  were 
packed.  I  heard  cheering,  hoarse  and  fierce  cries,  threats 
and  imprecations,  and  I  knew  that  they  were  listening  to 
oratory.  I  was  suddenly  shot  around  the  corner  of  a 
house,  saw  the  orator  himself,  and  gasped. 

It  was  Nicholas  Temple.  There  was  something  awe- 
impelling  in  the  tall,  slim,  boyish  figure  that  towered  above 
the  crowd,  in  the  finely  wrought,  passionate  face,  in  the 
voice  charged  with  such  an  anger  as  is  given  to  few  men. 

"  What  has  North  Carolina  done  for  Franklin  ? "  he 
cried.  "Protected  her?  No.  Repudiated  her?  Yes. 
You  gave  her  to  the  Confederacy  for  a  war  debt,  and  the 
Confederacy  flung  her  back.  You  shook  yourselves  free 
from  Carolina's  tyranny,  and  traitors  betrayed  you  again. 
And  now  they  have  betrayed  your  leader.  Will  you 
avenge  him,  or  will  you  sit  down  like  cowards  while  they 
hang  him  for  treason  ?  " 

His  voice  was  drowned,  but  he  stood  immovable  with 
arms  folded  until  there  was  silence  again. 

"  Will  you  rescue  him  ?  "  he  cried,  and  the  roar  rose 
again.  "  Will  you  avenge  him  ?  By  to-morrow  we  shall 
have  two  thousand  here.  Invade  North  Carolina,  humble 
her,  bring  her  to  her  knees,  and  avenge  John  Sevier  !  " 

Pandemonium  reigned.  Hats  were  flung  in  the  air, 
rifles  fired,  shouts  and  curses  rose  and  blended  into  one 
terrifying  note.  Gradually,  in  the  midst  of  this  mad  up 
roar,  the  crowd  became  aware  that  another  man  was 
standing  upon  the  stump  from  which  Nicholas  Temple 
had  leaped.  "  Cozby  !  "  some  one  yelled,  "  Cozby  !  "  The 
cry  was  taken  up.  "  Huzzay  for  Cozby  !  He'll  lead  us 
into  Caroliny."  He  was  the  huge,  swarthy  man  I  had 
seen  riding  hard  with  Nick  that  morning.  A  sculptor 


312  THE  CROSSING 

might  have  chosen  his  face  and  frame  for  a  type  of  the 
iron-handed  leader  of  pioneers.  Will  was  supreme  in  the 
great  features,  —  inflexible,  indomitable  will.  His  hunt 
ing  shirt  was  open  across  his  great  chest,  his  black  hair 
fell  to  his  shoulders,  and  he  stood  with  a  compelling  hand 
raised  for  silence.  And  when  he  spoke,  slowly,  reso 
nantly,  men  fell  back  before  his  words. 

"  I  admire  Mr.  Temple's  courage,  and  above  all  his 
loyalty  to  our  beloved  General,"  said  Major  Cozby.  "  But 
Mr.  Temple  is  young,  and  the  heated  counsels  of  youth 
must  not  prevail.  My  friends,  in  order  to  save  Jack 
Sevier  we  must  be  moderate." 

His  voice,  strong  as  it  was,  was  lost.  "  To  hell  with 
moderation  ! "  they  shouted.  "  Down  with  North  Carolina  ! 
We'll  fight  her  !  " 

He  got  silence  again  by  the  magnetic  strength  he  had 
in  him. 

"  Very  good,"  he  said,  "  but  get  your  General  first.  If 
we  lead  you  across  the  mountains  now,  his  blood  will  be 
upon  your  heads.  No  man  is  a  better  friend  to  Jack 
Sevier  than  I.  Leave  his  rescue  to  me,  and  I  will  get 
him  for  you."  He  paused,  and  they  were  stilled  perforce. 
"  I  will  get  him  for  you,"  he  repeated  slowly,  "  or  North 
Carolina  will  pay  for  the  burial  of  James  Cozby." 

There  was  an  instant  when  they  might  have  swung 
either  way. 

"  How  will  ye  do  it  ?  "  came  in  a  thin,  piping  voice  from 
somewhere  near  the  stump.  It  may  have  been  this  that 
turned  their  minds.  Others  took  up  the  question, 
"  How  will  ye  do  it,  Major  Cozby  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  cried  the  Major,  "  I  don't  know.  And 
if  I  did  know,  I  wouldn't  tell  you.  But  I  will  get  Nolli- 
chucky  Jack  if  I  have  to  burn  Morganton  and  rake  the 
General  out  of  the  cinders  !  " 

Five  hundred  hands  flew  up,  five  hundred  voices  cried, 
"  I'm  with  ye,  Major  Cozby  !  "  But  the  Major  only  shook 
his  head  and  smiled.  What  he  said  was  lost  in  the  roar. 
Fighting  my  way  forward,  I  saw  him  get  down  from  the 
stump,  put  his  hand  kindly  on  Nick's  shoiuaer,  and  lead 


THE   WIDOW   BROWN'S  313 

him  into  the  court-house.  They  were  followed  by  a  score 
of  others,  and  the  door  was  shut  behind  them. 

It  was  then  I  bethought  myself  of  the  letter  to  Mr. 
Wright,  and  I  sought  for  some  one  who  would  listen  to 
my  questions  as  to  his  whereabouts.  At  length  the 
man  himself  was  pointed  out  to  me,  haranguing  an  excited 
crowd  of  partisans  in  front  of  his  own  gate.  Some  twenty 
minutes  must  have  passed  before  I  could  get  any  word 
with  him.  He  was  a  vigorous  little  man,  with  black  eyes 
like  buttons,  he  wore  brown  homespun  and  white  stock 
ings,  and  his  hair  was  clubbed.  When  he  had  yielded 
the  ground  to  another  orator,  I  handed  him  the  letter. 
He  drew  me  aside,  read  it  on  the  spot,  and  became  all 
hospitality  at  once.  The  town  was  full,  and  though  he 
had  several  friends  staying  in  his  house  I  should  join 
them.  Was  my  horse  fed  ?  Dinner  had  been  forgotten 
that  day,  but  would  I  enter  and  partake  ?  In  short,  I 
found  myself  suddenly  provided  for,  and  I  lost  no  time 
in  getting  my  weary  mount  into  Mr.  Wright's  little 
stable.  And  then  I  sat  down,  with  several  other  gentle 
men,  at  Mr.  Wright's  board,  where  there  was  much  guess 
ing  as  to  Major  Cozby's  plan. 

"No  other  man  west  of  the  mountains  could  have 
calmed  that  crowd  after  that  young  daredevil  Temple  had 
stirred  them  up,"  declared  Mr.  Wright. 

I  ventured  to  say  that  I  had  business  with  Mr.  Temple. 

"  Faith,  then,  I  will  invite  him  here,"  said  my  host. 
"  But  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,  that  he  is  a  trigger  set  on 
the  hair.  If  he  does  not  fancy  you,  he  may  quarrel  with 
you  and  shoot  you.  And  he  is  in  no  temper  to  be  trifled 
with  to-day." 

"  I  am  not  an  easy  person  to  quarrel  with,"  I  answered. 

"  To  look  at  you,  I  shouldn't  say  that  you  were,"  said 
he.  "  We  are  going  to  the  court-house,  and  I  will  see  if 
I  can  get  a  word  with  the  young  Hotspur  and  send  him 
to  you.  Do  you  wait  here." 

I  waited  on  the  porch  as  the  day  waned.  The  tumult 
of  the  place  had  died  down,  for  men  were  gathering  in 
the  houses  to  discuss  and  conjecture.  And  presently, 


314  THE  CROSSING 

sauntering  along  the  street  in  a  careless  fashion,  his  spurs 
trailing  in  the  dust,  came  Nicholas  Temple.  He  stopped 
before  the  house  and  stared  at  me  with  a  fine  insolence, 
and  I  wondered  whether  I  myself  had  not  been  too  hasty 
in  reclaiming  him.  A  greeting  died  on  my  lips. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  so  you  are  the  gentleman  who 
has  been  dogging  me  all  day." 

"  I  dog  no  one,  Mr.  Temple,"  I  replied  bitterly. 

"  We'll  not  quibble  about  words,"  said  he.  "  Would  it 
be  impertinent  to  ask  your  business  —  and  perhaps  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Did  not  Mr.  Wright  give  you  my  name  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  He  might  have  mentioned  it,  I  did  not  hear.  Is  it 
of  such  importance  ?  " 

At  that  I  lost  my  temper  entirely. 

"  It  may  be,  and  it  may  not,"  I  retorted.  "  I  am  David 
Ritchie."' 

He  changed  before  my  eyes  as  he  stared  at  me,  and 
then,  ere  I  knew  it,  he  had  me  by  both  arms,  crying 
out :  — 

"  David  Ritchie  !     My  Davy  —  who  ran  away  from  me 

—  and  we  were  going  to  Kentucky  together.     Oh,  I  have 
never  forgiven  you,"  —  the  smile  that  there  was  no  re 
sisting  belied  his  words  as  he  put  his  face  close  to  mine 

—  "I  never  will  forgive  you.    I  might  have  known  you  — 
you've  grown,  but  I  vow  you're  still  an  old  man,  —  Davy, 
you  renegade.     And  where  the  devil  did  you  run  to  ?  " 

"  Kentucky,"  I  said,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  you  traitor  —  and  I  trusted  }TOU.  I  loved  you, 
Davy.  Do  you  remember  how  I  clung  to  you  in  my 
sleep  ?  And  when  I  woke  up,  the  world  was  black.  I 
followed  your  trail  down  the  drive  and  to  the  cross 
roads  —  " 

"  It  was  not  ingratitude,  Nick,"  I  said  ;  "  you  were  all 
I  had  in  the  world."  And  then  I  faltered,  the  sadness  of 
that  far-off  time  coming  over  me  in  a  flood,  and  the  re 
membrance  of  his  generous  sorrow  for  me. 

"  And  how  the  devil  did  you  track  me  to  the  Widow 
Brown's  ?  "  he  demanded,  releasing  me. 


THE  WIDOW  BROWN'S  315 

"  A  Mr.  Jackson  had  a  shrewd  notion  you  were  there. 
And  by  the  way,  he  was  in  a  fine  temper  because  you  had 
skipped  a  race  with  him." 

"  That  sorrel-topped,  lantern-headed  Mr.  Jackson  ?  " 
said  Nick.  "  He'll  be  killed  in  one  of  his  fine  tempers. 
Damn  a  man  who  can't  keep  his  temper.  I'll  race  him,  of 
course.  And  where  are  you  bound  now,  Davy  ?  " 

"  For  Louisville,  in  Kentucky,  at  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio. 
It  is  a  growing  place,  and  a  promising  one  for  a  young 
man  in  the  legal  profession  to  begin  life." 

"  When  do  you  leave?  "  said  he. 

"  To-morrow  morning,  Nick,"  said  I.  "  You  wanted  once 
to  go  to  Kentucky ;  why  not  come  with  me?  " 

His  face  clouded. 

"  I  do  not  budge  from  this  town,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not 
budge  until  I  hear  that  Jack  Sevier  is  safe.  Damn  Cozby ! 
If  he  had  given  me  my  way,  we  should  have  been  forty 
miles  from  here  by  this.  I'll  tell  you,  Cozby  is  even 
now  picking  five  men  to  go  to  Morganton  and  steal  Sevier, 
and  he  puts  me  off  with  a  kind  word.  He'll  not  have  me, 
he  says." 

"  He  thinks  you  too  hot.  It  needs  discretion  and  an 
old  head,"  said  I. 

"  Egad,  then,  I'll  commend  you  to  him,"  said  Nick. 

" Now,"  I  said,  "it's  time  for  you  to  tell  me  something 
of  yourself,  and  how  you  chanced  to  come  into  this 
country." 

"  'Twas  Darnley's  fault,"  said  Nick. 

"  Darnley  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  he  whom  you  got  into  the 
duel  with  —  "I  stopped  abruptly,  with  a  sharp  twinge  of 
remembrance  that  was  like  a  pain  in  my  side.  "Twas 
Nick  took  up  the  name. 

"  With  Harry  Riddle."  He  spoke  quietly,  that  was 
the  terrifying  part  of  it.  "  David,  I've  looked  for  that 
man  in  Italy  and  France,  I've  scoured  London  for  him, 
and,  by  God,  I'll  find  him  before  he  dies.  And  when  I 
do  find  him  I  swear  to  you  that  there  will  be  no  such 
thing  as  time  wasted,  or  mercy." 

I  shuddered.     In  all  my  life  I  had  never  known  such  a 


316  THE  CROSSING 

moment  of  indecision.  Should  I  tell  him  ?  My  con 
science  would  give  me  no  definite  reply.  The  question 
had  haunted  me  all  the  night,  and  I  had  lost  my  way  in 
consequence,  nor  had  the  morning's  ride  from  the  Widow 
Brown's  sufficed  to  bring  me  to  a  decision.  Of  what  use 
to  tell  him  ?  Would  Riddle's  death  mend  matters  ? 
The  woman  loved  him,  that  had  been  clear  to  me ;  yet, 
by  telling  Nick  what  I  knew  I  might  induce  him  to  desist 
from  his  search,  and  if  I  did  not  tell,  Nick  might  some  day 
run  across  the  trail,  follow  it  up,  take  Riddle's  life,  and 
lose  his  own.  The  moment,  made  for  confession  as  it 
was,  passed. 

"  They  have  ruined  my  life,"  said  Nick.  "  I  curse  him, 
and  I  curse  her." 

"  Hold  !  "  I  cried  ;   "  she  is  your  mother." 

"  And  therefore  I  curse  her  the  more,"  he  said.  "  You 
know  what  she  is,  you've  tasted  of  her  charity,  and  you 
are  my  father's  nephew.  If  you  have  been  without  ex 
perience,  I  will  tell  you  what  she  is.  A  common  —  " 

I  reached  out  and  put  my  hand  across  his  mouth. 

"  Silence  I  "  I  cried  ;  "  you  shall  say  no  such  thing.  And 
have  you  not  manhood  enough  to  make  your  own  life  for 
yourself  ?  " 

"  Manhood ! "  he  repeated,  and  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh 
that  I  did  not  like.  "  They  made  a  man  of  me,  my 
parents.  My  father  played  false  with  the  Rebels  and  fled 
to  England  for  his  reward.  A  year  after  he  went  I  was 
left  alone  at  Temple  Bow  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
niggers.  Mr.  Mason  came  back  and  snatched  what  was 
left  of  me.  He  was  a  good  man ;  he  saved  me  an  annuity 
out  of  the  estate,  he  took  me  abroad  after  the  war  on  a 
grand  tour,  and  died  of  a  fever  in  Rome.  I  made  my 
way  back  to  Charlestown,  and  there  I  learned  to  gamble, 
to  hold  liquor  like  a  gentleman,  to  run  horses  and  fight 
like  a  gentleman.  We  were  speaking  of  Darnley,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  of  Darnley,"  I  repeated. 

"  The  devil  of  a  man,"  said  Nick  ;  "  do  you  remember 
him,  with  the  cracked  voice  and  fat  calves  ?  '* 


THE  WIDOW   BROWN'S  317 

At  any  other  time  I  should  have  laughed  at  the  recol 
lection. 

"  Darnley  turned  Whig,  became  a  Continental  colonel, 
and  got  a  grant  out  here  in  the  Cumberland  country  of 
three  thousand  acres.  And  now  I  own  it." 

"  You  own  it  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Rattle-and-snap,"  said  Nick ;  "  I  played  him  for  the 
land  at  the  ordinary  one  night,  and  won.  it.  It  is  out  here 
near  a  place  called  Nashboro,  where  this  wild,  long-faced 
Mr.  Jackson  says  he  is  going  soon.  I  crossed  the  mountains 
to  have  a  look  at  it,  fell  in  with  Nollichucky  Jack,  and 
went  off  with  him  for  a  summer  campaign.  There's  a  man 
for  you,  Davy,"  he  cried,  "  a  man  to  follow  through  hell- 
fire.  If  they  touch  a  hair  of  his  head  we'll  sack  the  State 
of  North  Carolina  from  Morganton  to  the  sea." 

"  But  the  land  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  a  fig  for  the  land,"  answered  Nick  ;  "  as  soon  as 
Nollichucky  Jack  is  safe  I'll  follow  you  into  Kentucky." 
He  slapped  me  on  the  knee.  "  Egad,  Davy,  it  seems  like 
a  fairy  tale.  We  always  said  we  were  going  to  Kentucky, 
didn't  we  ?  What  is  the  name  of  the  place  you  are  to 
startle  with  your  learning  and  calm  by  your  example  ?  " 

"  Louisville,"  I  answered,  laughing,  "  by  the  Falls  of 
the  Ohio." 

"  I  shall  turn  up  there  when  Jack  Sevier  is  safe  and  I 
have  won  some  more  land  from  Mr.  Jackson.  We'll  have 
a  rare  old  time  together,  though  I  have  no  doubt  you  can 
drink  me  under  the  table.  Beware  of  these  sober  men. 
Egad,  Davy,  you  need  only  a  woolsack  to  become  a  full- 
fledged  judge.  And  now  tell  me  how  fortune  has  buffeted 
you." 

It  was  my  second  night  without  sleep,  for  we  sat  burn 
ing  candles  in  Mr.  Wright's  house  until  the  dawn,  making 
up  the  time  which  we  had  lost  away  from  each  other. 


CHAPTER  VII 

I   MEET   A   HERO 

WHEN  left  to  myself,  I  was  wont  to  slide  into  the 
commonplace  ;  and  where  my  own  dull  life  intrudes  to  clog 
the  action  I  cut  it  down  here  and  pare  it  away  there  until 
I  am  merely  explanatory,  and  not  too  much  in  evidence.  I 
rode  out  the  Wilderness  Trail,  fell  in  with  other  travellers, 
was  welcomed  by  certain  old  familiar  faces  at  Harrodstown, 
and  pressed  on.  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  a  beloved, 
vigorous  figure  swooping  out  of  a  cabin  door  and  scatter 
ing  a  brood  of  children  right  and  left.  "  Polly  Ann  !  " 
I  said,  and  she  halted,  trembling. 

"  Tom,"  she  cried,  "  Tom,  it's  Davy  come  back  ;  "  and 
Tom  himself  flew  out  of  the  door,  ramrod  in  one  hand  and 
rifle  in  the  other.  Never  shall  I  forget  them  as  they 
stood  there,  he  grinning  with  sheer  joy  as  of  yore,  and 
she,  with  her  hair  flying  and  her  blue  gown  snapping 
in  the  wind,  in  a  tremor  between  tears  and  laughter.  I 
leaped  to  the  ground,  and  she  hugged  me  in  her  arms  as 
though  I  had  been  a  child,  calling  my  name  again  and 
again,  and  little  Tom  pulling  at  the  skirts  of  my  coat.  I 
caught  the  youngster  by  the  collar. 

"  Polly  Ann,"  said  I,  "  he's  grown  to  what  I  was  when 
you  picked  me  up,  a  foundling." 

"  And  now  it's  little  Davy  no  more,"  she  answered, 
swept  me  a  courtesy,  and  added,  with  a  little  quiver  in 
her  voice,  "ye  are  a  gentleman  now." 

"  My  heart  is  still  where  it  was,"  said  I. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Tom,  "I'm  sure  o'  that,  Davy." 

I  was  with  them  a  fortnight  in  the  familiar  cabin, 
and  then  I  took  up  my  journey  northward,  heavy  at 

318 


I  MEET  A  HERO  319 

leaving  again,  but  promising  to  see  them  from  time  to 
time.  For  Tom  was  often  at  the  Falls  when  he  went 
a-scouting  into  the  Illinois  country.  It  was,  as  of  old, 
Polly  Ann  who  ran  the  mill  and  was  the  real  bread 
winner  of  the  family. 

Louisville  was  even  then  bursting  with  importance,  and 
as  I  rode  into  it,  one  bright  November  day,  I  remem 
bered  the  wilderness  I  had  seen  here  not  ten  years  gone 
when  I  had  marched  hither  with  Captain  Harrod's  com 
pany  to  join  Clark  on  the  island.  It  was  even  then  a 
thriving  little  town  of  log  and  clapboard  houses  and 
schools  and  churches,  and  wise  men  were  saying  of  it  — 
what  Colonel  Clark  had  long  ago  predicted  —  that  it 
would  become  the  first  city  of  commercial  importance 
in  the  district  of  Kentucky. 

I  do  not  mean  to  give  you  an  account  of  my  struggles 
that  winter  to  obtain  a  foothold  in  the  law.  The  time 
was  a  heyday  for  young  barristers,  and  troubles  in  those 
early  days  grew  as  plentifully  in  Kentucky  as  corn.  In 
short,  I  got  a  practice,  for  Colonel  Clark  was  here  to 
help  me,  and,  thanks  to  the  men  who  had  gone  to 
Kaskaskia  and  Vincennes,  I  had  a  fairly  large  acquaint 
ance  in  Kentucky.  I  hired  rooms  behind  Mr.  Crede's 
store,  which  was  famed  for  the  glass  windows  which  had 
been  fetched  all  the  way  from  Philadelphia.  Mr.  Crede 
was  the  embodiment  of  the  enterprising  spirit  of  the 
place,  and  often  of  an  evening  he  called  me  in  to  see 
the  new  fashionable  things  his  barges  had  brought  down 
the  Ohio.  The  next  day  certain  young  sparks  would 
drop  into  my  room  to  waylay  the  belles  as  they  came  to 
pick  a  costume  to  be  worn  at  Mr.  Nickle's  dancing  school, 
or  at  the  ball  at  Fort  Finney. 

The  winter  slipped  away,  and  one  cool  evening  in  May 
there  came  a  negro  to  my  room  with  a  note  from  Colonel 
Clark,  bidding  me  sup  with  him  at  the  tavern  and  meet 
a  celebrity. 

I  put  on  my  best  blue  clothes  that  I  had  brought  with 
me  from  Richmond,  and  repaired  expectantly  to  the  tav 
ern  about  eight  of  the  clock,  pushed  through  the  curious 


320  THE   CROSSING 

crowd  outside,  and  entered  the  big  room  where  the  com 
pany  was  fast  assembling.  Against  the  red  blaze  in  the 
great  chimney-place  I  spied  the  figure  of  Colonel  Clark, 
more  portly  than  of  yore,  and  beside  him  stood  a  gentle 
man  who  could  be  no  other  than  General  Wilkinson. 

He  was  a  man  to  fill  the  eye,  handsome  of  face,  sym 
metrical  of  figure,  easy  of  manner,  and  he  wore  a  suit  of 
bottle-green  that  became  him  admirably.  In  short,  so 
fascinated  and  absorbed  was  I  in  watching  him  as  he 
greeted  this  man  and  the  other  that  I  started  as  though 
something  had  pricked  me  when  I  heard  my  name  called 
by  Colonel  Clark. 

"  Come  here,  Davy,"  he  cried  across  the  room,  and  I 
came  and  stood  abashed  before  the  hero.  "  General, 
allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  drummer  boy  of  Kaskaskia 
and  Vincennes,  Mr.  David  Ritchie." 

"  I  hear  that  you  drummed  them  to  victory  through 
a  very  hell  of  torture,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  the  General. 
"  It  is  an  honor  to  grasp  the  hand  of  one  who  did  such 
service  at  such  a  tender  age." 

General  Wilkinson  availed  himself  of  that  honor,  and 
encompassed  me  with  a  smile  so  benignant,  so  winning  in 
its  candor,  that  I  could  only  mutter  my  acknowledgment, 
and  Colonel  Clark  must  needs  apologize,  laughing,  for  my 
youth  and  timidity. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  is  not  good  at  speeches,  General,"  said 
he,  "  but  I  make  no  doubt  he  will  drink  a  bumper  to  your 
health  before  we  sit  down.  Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  filling 
his  glass  from  a  bottle  on  the  table,  "  a  toast  to  General 
Wilkinson,  emancipator  and  saviour  of  Kentucky !  " 

The  company  responded  with  a  shout,  tossed  off  the 
toast,  and  sat  down  at  the  long  table.  Chance  placed  me 
between  a  young  dandy  from  Lexington  —  one  of  several 
the  General  had  brought  in  his  train  —  and  Mr.  Wharton, 
a  prominent  planter  of  the  neighborhood  with  whom  I 
had  a  speaking  acquaintance.  This  was  a  backwoods 
feast,  though  served  in  something  better  than  the  old 
backwoods  style,  and  we  had  venison  and  bear's  meat 
and  prairie  fowl  as  well  as  pork  and  beef,  and  breads  that 


I  MEET  A  HERO  321 

came  stinging  hot  from  the  Dutch  ovens.  Toasts  to  this 
and  that  were  flung  back  and  forth,  and  jests  and  gibes, 
and  the  butt  of  many  of  these  was  that  poor  Federal 
government  which  (as  one  gentleman  avowed)  was  like 
a  bantam  hen  trying  to  cover  a  nestful  of  turkey's  eggs, 
and  clucking  with  importance  all  the  time.  This  picture 
brought  on  gusts  of  laughter. 

"And  what  say  you  of  the  Jay?"  cried  one;  "what 
will  he  hatch  ?  " 

Hisses  greeted  the  name,  for  Mr.  Jay  wished  to  enter 
into  a  treaty  with  Spain,  agreeing  to  close  the  river  for 
five  and  twenty  years.  Colonel  Clark  stood  up,  and 
rapped  on  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  Louisville  has  as  her  guest  of 
honor  to-night  a  man  of  whom  Kentucky  may  well  be 
proud  [loud  cheering] .  Five  years  ago  he  favored  Lex 
ington  by  making  it  his  home,  and  he  came  to  us  with 
the  laurel  of  former  achievements  still  clinging  to  his 
brow.  He  fought  and  suffered  for  his  country,  and  at 
tained  the  honorable  rank  of  Major  in  the  Continental 
line.  He  was  chosen  by  the  people  of  Pennsylvania  to 
represent  them  in  the  august  body  of  their  legislature,  and 
now  he  has  got  new  honor  in  a  new  field  [renewed  cheer 
ing].  He  has  come  to  Kentucky  to  show  her  the  way  to 
prosperity  and  glory.  Kentucky  had  a  grievance  [loud 
cries  of  "  Yes,  yes  !  "] .  Her  hogs  and  cattle  had  no  market, 
her  tobacco  and  agricultural  products  of  all  kinds  were 
rotting  because  the  Spaniards  had  closed  the  Mississippi 
to  our  traffic.  Could  the  Federal  government  open  the 
river  ?  [shouts  of  "  No,  no  !  "  and  hisses].  Who  opened  it? 
[cries  of  "Wilkinson,  Wilkinson  !  "].  He  said  to  the  Ken 
tucky  planters,  '  Give  your  tobacco  to  me,  and  I  will  sell 
it.'  He  put  it  in  barges,  he  floated  down  the  river,  and,  as 
became  a  man  of  such  distinction,  he  was  met  by  Governor- 
general  Miro  on  the  levee  at  New  Orleans.  Where  is  that 
tobacco  now,  gentlemen  ?  "  Colonel  Clark  was  here  in 
terrupted  by  such  roars  and  stamping  that  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  during  this  interval  Mr.  Wharton  leaned 
over  and  whispered  quietly  in  my  ear  :  — 


322  THE  CBOSSING 

"  Ay,  where  is  it  ?  " 

I  stared  at  Mr.  Wharton  blankly.  He  was  a  man 
nearing  the  middle  age,  with  a  lacing  of  red  in  his  cheeks, 
a  pleasant  gray  eye,  and  a  singularly  quiet  manner. 

"  Thanks  to  the  genius  of  General  Wilkinson,"  Colonel 
Clark  continued,  waving  his  hand  towards  the  smilingly 
placid  hero,  "  that  tobacco  has  been  deposited  in  the  King's 
store  at  ten  dollars  per  hundred,  —  a  privilege  heretofore 
confined  to  Spanish  subjects.  Well  might  Wilkinson 
return  from  New  Orleans  in  a  chariot  and  four  to  a  grate 
ful  Kentucky !  This  year  we  have  tripled,  nay,  quadrupled, 
our  crop  of  tobacco,  and  we  are  here  to-night  to  give 
thanks  to  the  author  of  this  prosperity."  Alas,  Colonel 
Clark's  hand  was  not  as  steady  as  of  yore,  and  he  spilled 
the  liquor  on  the  table  as  he  raised  his  glass.  "  Gentle 
men,  a  health  to  our  benefactor." 

They  drank  it  willingly,  and  withal  so  lengthily  and 
noisily  that  Mr.  Wilkinson  stood  smiling  and  bowing  for 
full  three  minutes  before  he  could  be  heard.  He  was  a  very 
paragon  of  modesty,  was  the  General,  and  a  man  whose 
attitudes  and  expressions  spoke  as  eloquently  as  his  words. 
None  looked  at  him  now  but  knew  before  he  opened  his 
mouth  that  he  was  deprecating  such  an  ovation.  , 

"  Gentlemen,  —  my  friends  and  fellow-Kentuckians,"  he 
said,  "  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  your 
kindness,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  have  done  nothing 
worthy  of  it  [loud  protests].  I  am  a  simple,  practical 
man,  who  loves  Kentucky  better  than  he  loves  himself. 
This  is  no  virtue,  for  we  all  have  it.  We  have  the  mis 
fortune  to  be  governed  by  a  set  of  worthy  gentlemen  who 
know  little  about  Kentucky  and  her  wants,  and  think 
less  [cries  of  "  Ay,  ay !  "] .  I  am  not  decrying  General 
Washington  and  his  cabinet ;  it  is  but  natural  that  the 
wants  of  the  seaboard  and  the  welfare  and  opulence  of 
the  Eastern  cities  should  be  uppermost  in  their  minds 
[another  interruption] .  Kentucky,  if  she  would  prosper, 
must  look  to  her  own  welfare.  And  if  any  credit  is  due  to 
me,  gentlemen,  it  is  because  I  reserved  my  decision  of 
his  Excellency,  Governor-general  Miro,  and  his  people 


I  MEET  A  HERO  323 

until  i  saw  them  for  myself.  A  little  calm  reason,  a  plain 
statement  of  the  case,  will  often  remove  what  seems  an 
insuperable  difficulty,  and  I  assure  you  that  Governor- 
general  Miro  is  a  most  reasonable  and  courteous  gentle 
man,  who  looks  with  all  kindliness  and  neighborliness  on 
the  people  of  Kentucky.  Let  us  drink  a  toast  to  him. 
To  him  your  gratitude  is  due,  for  he  sends  you  word  that 
your  tobacco  will  be  received." 

"  In  General  Wilkinson's  barges,"  said  Mr.  Wharton, 
leaning  over  and  subsiding  again  at  once. 

The  General  was  the  first  to  drink  the  toast,  and  he 
sat  down  very  modestly  amidst  a  thunder  of  applause. 

The  young  man  on  the  other  side  of  me,  somewhat 
flushed,  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Down  with  the  Federal  government ! "  he  cried  ;  "what 
have  they  done  for  us,  indeed  ?  Before  General  Wilkin 
son  went  to  New  Orleans  the  Spaniards  seized  our  flat- 
boats  and  cargoes  and  flung  our  traders  into  prison,  ay, 
and  sent  them  to  the  mines  of  Brazil.  The  Federal  gov 
ernment  takes  sides  with  the  Indians  against  us.  And 
what  has  that  government  done  for  you,  Colonel?"  he 
demanded,  turning  to  Clark,  "you  who  have  won  for 
them  half  of  their  territory  ?  They  have  cast  you  off  like 
an  old  moccasin.  The  Continental  officers  who  fought  in 
the  East  have  half-pay  for  life  or  five  years'  full  pay. 
And  what  have  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  breathless  hush.  A  swift  vision  came  to 
me  of  a  man,  young,  alert,  commanding,  stern  under  ne 
cessity,  self-repressed  at  all  times  —  a  man  who  by  the  very 
dominance  of  his  character  had  awed  into  submission  the 
fierce  Northern  tribes  of  a  continent,  who  had  compelled 
men  to  follow  him  until  the,  life  had  all  but  ebbed  from 
their  bodies,  who  had  led  them  to  victory  in  the  end.  And 
I  remembered  a  boy  who  had  stood  awe-struck  before  this 
man  in  the  commandant's  house  at  Fort  Sackville.  Ay, 
and  I  heard  again  his  words  as  though  he  had  just  spoken 
them,  "Promise  me  that  you  will  not  forget  me  if  I  am 
—  unfortunate."  I  did  not  understand  then.  And  now, 
because  of  a  certain  blinding  of  my  eyes,  I  did  not  see  him 


324  THE  CROSSING 

clearly  as  he  got  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  clutched  the 
table.  He  looked  around  him  —  I  dare  not  say  —  va 
cantly.  And  then,  suddenly,  he  spoke  with  a  supreme 
anger  and  a  supreme  bitterness. 

"Not  a  shilling  has  this  government  given  me,"  he 
cried.  "  Virginia  was  more  grateful  ;  from  her  I  have  some 
acres  of  wild  land  and — a  sword."  He  laughed.  "A 
sword,  gentlemen,  and  not  new  at  that.  Oh,  a  grateful 
government  we  serve,  one  careful  of  the  honor  of  her  cap 
tains.  Gentlemen,  I  stand  to-day  a  discredited  man  because 
the  honest  debts  I  incurred  in  the  service  of  that  govern 
ment  are  repudiated,  because  my  friends  who  helped  it, 
Father  Gibault,  Vigo,  and  Gratiot,  and  others  have  never 
been  repaid.  One  of  them  is  ruined." 

A  dozen  men  had  sprung  clamoring  to  their  feet  before 
he  sat  down.  One,  more  excited  than  the  rest,  got  the 
ear  of  the  company. 

"  Do  we  lack  leaders  ?  "  he  cried.  "  We  have  them 
here  with  us  to-night,  in  this  room.  Who  will  stop  us  ? 
Not  the  contemptible  enemies  in  Kentucky  who  call  them 
selves  Federalists.  Shall  we  be  supine  forever?  We 
have  fought  once  for  our  liberties,  let  us  fight  again. 
Let  us  make  a  common  cause  with  our  real  friends  on  the 
far  side  of  the  Mississippi." 

I  rose,  sick  at  heart,  but  every  man  was  standing.  And 
then  a  strange  thing  happened.  I  saw  General  Wilkin 
son  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  ;  his  hand  was  raised,  and 
there  was  that  on  his  handsome  face  which  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  smile,  and  yet  was  not  a  smile.  Others 
saw  him  too,  I  know  not  by  what  exertion  of  magnetism. 
They  looked  at  him  and  they  held  their  tongues. 

"  I  fear  that  we  are  losing  our  heads,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  I  propose  to  you  the  health  of  the  first  citizen 
of  Kentucky,  Colonel  George  Rogers  Clark." 

I  found  myself  out  of  the  tavern  and  alone  in  the  cool 
May  night.  And  as  I  walked  slowly  down  the  deserted 
street,  my  head  in  a  whirl,  a  hand  was  laid  on  my 
shoulder.  I  turned,  startled,  to  face  Mr.  Wharton,  the 
planter. 


I  MEET  A  HERO  325 

"  I  would  speak  a  word  with  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he 
said.  "  May  I  come  to  your  room  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  I  answered. 

After  that  we  walked  along  together  in  silence,  my 
own  mind  heavily  occupied  with  what  I  had  seen  and 
heard.  We  came  to  Mr.  Crede's  store,  went  in  at  the 
picket  gate  beside  it  and  down  the  path  to  my  own  door, 
which  I  unlocked.  I  felt  for  the  candle  on  the  table, 
lighted  it,  and  turned  in  surprise  to  discover  that  Mr. 
Wharton  was  poking  up  the  fire  and  pitching  on  a  log  of 
wood.  He  flung  off  his  greatcoat  and  sat  down  with  his 
feet  to  the  blaze.  I  sat  down  beside  him  and  waited, 
thinking  him  a  sufficiently  peculiar  man. 

"You  are  not  famous,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  he,  pres 
ently. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Nor  particularly  handsome,"  he  continued,  "nor  con 
spicuous  in  any  way." 

I  agreed  to  this,  perforce. 

"  You  may  thank  God  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Wharton. 

"  That  would  be  a  strange  outpouring,  sir,"  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 

"  What  think  you  of  this  paragon,  General  Wilkinson  ?  " 
lie  demanded  suddenly. 

"  I  have  Federal  leanings,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Egad,"  said  he,  "we'll  add  caution  to  your  lack  of 
negative  accomplishments.  I  have  had  an  eye  on  you 
this  winter,  though  you  did  not  know  it.  I  have  made 
inquiries  about  you,  and  hence  I  am  not  here  to-night 
entirely  through  impulse.  You  have  not  made  a  fortune 
at  the  law,  but  you  have  worked  hard,  steered  wide  of 
sensation,  kept  your  mouth  shut.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Astonished,  I  merely  nodded  in  reply. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  waste  your  time  or  steal  your  sleep," 
he  went  on,  giving  the  log  a  push  with  his  foot,  "  and  I 
will  come  to  the  point.  When  I  first  laid  eyes  on  this 
fine  gentleman,  General  Wilkinson,  I  too  fell  a  victim  to 
his  charms.  It  was  on  the  eve  of  this  epoch-making  trip 
of  which  we  heard  so  glowing  an  account  to-night,  and  I 


326  THE  CROSSING 

made  up  my  mind  that  no  Spaniard,  however  wily,  could 
resist  his  persuasion.  He  said  to  me,  '  Wharton,  give  me 
your  crop  of  tobacco  and  I  promise  you  to  sell  it  in  spite 
of  all  the  royal  mandates  that  go  out  of  Madrid.'  He 
went,  he  saw,  he  conquered  the  obdurate  Miro  as  he  has 
apparently  conquered  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  he  actually 
came  back  in  a  chariot  and  four  as  befitted  him.  A  heavy 
crop  of  tobacco  was  raised  in  Kentucky  that  year.  1 
helped  to  raise  it,"  added  Mr.  Wharton,  dryly.  "  I  gave 
the  General  my  second  crop,  and  he  sent  it  down.  Mr. 
Ritchie,  I  have  to  this  day  never  received  a  piastre  for 
my  merchandise,  nor  am  I  the  only  planter  in  this  situa 
tion.  Yet  General  Wilkinson  is  prosperous." 

My  astonishment  somewhat  prevented  me  from  reply 
ing  to  this,  too.  Was  it  possible  that  Mr.  Wharton 
meant  to  sue  the  General  ?  I  reflected  while  he  paused. 
I  remembered  how  inconspicuous  he  had  named  me,  and 
hope  died.  Mr.  Wharton  did  not  look  at  me,  but  stared 
into  the  fire,  for  he  was  plainly  not  a  man  to  rail  and  rant. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,  you  are  young,  but  mark  my  words,  that 
man  Wilkinson  will  bring  Kentucky  to  ruin  if  he  is  not 
found  out.  The  whole  district  from  Crab  Orchard  to 
Bear  Grass  is  mad  about  him.  Even  Clark  makes  a  fool 
of  himself  —  " 

"  Colonel  Clark,  sir  !  "  I  cried. 

He  put  up  a  hand. 

"  So  you  have  some  hot  blood,"  he  said.  "  I  know  you 
love  him.  So  do  I,  or  I  should  not  have  been  there  to 
night.  Do  I  blame  his  bitterness?  Do  I  blame  —  any 
thing  he  does  ?  The  treatment  he  has  had  would  bring  a 
blush  of  shame  to  the  cheek  of  any  nation  save  a  republic. 
Republics  are  wasteful,  sir.  In  George  Rogers  Clark  they 
have  thrown  away  a  general  who  might  some  day  have 
decided  the  fate  of  this  country,  they  have  left  to  stagnate 
a  man  fit  to  lead  a  nation  to  war.  And  now  he  is  ready 
to  intrigue  against  the  government  with  any  adventurer 
who  may  have  convincing  ways  and  a  smooth  tongue." 

"  Mr.  Wharton,"  I  said,  rising,  "  did  you  come  here  to 
tell  me  this  ?  " 


I  MEET  A  HEEO  327 

But  Mr.  Wharton  continued  to  stare  into  the  fire. 

"  I  like  you  the  better  for  it,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  and 
I  assure  you  that  I  mean  no  offence.  Colonel  Clark  is 
enshrined  in  our  hearts,  Democrats  and  Federalists  alike. 
Whatever  he  may  do,  we  shall  love  him  always.  But 
this  other  man,  —  pooh!"  he  exclaimed,  which  was  as 
near  a  vigorous  expression  as  he  got.  "  Now,  sir,  to  the 
point.  I,  too,  am  a  Federalist,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Humphrey 
Marshall,  and,  as  you  know,  we  are  sadly  in  the  minority 
in  Kentucky  now.  I  came  here  to-night  to  ask  you  to 
undertake  a  mission  in  behalf  of  myself  and  certain  other 
gentlemen,  and  I  assure  you  that  my  motives  are  not 
wholly  mercenary."  He  paused,  smiled,  and  put  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  together.  "  I  would  willingly  lose  every 
crop  for  the  next  ten  years  to  convict  this  Wilkinson  of 
treason  against  the  Federal  government." 

"  Treason  !  "  I  repeated  involuntarily. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,"  answered  the  planter,  "  I  gave  you 
credit  for  some  shrewdness.  Do  you  suppose  the  Federal 
government  does  not  realize  the  danger  of  this  situation 
in  Kentucky.  They  have  tried  in  vain  to  open  the  Mis 
sissippi,  and  are  too  weak  to  do  it.  This  man  Wilkinson 
goes  down  to  see  Miro,  and  Miro  straightway  opens  the 
river  to  us  through  him.  How  do  you  suppose  Wilkin 
son  did  it  ?  By  his  charming  personality  ?  " 

I  said  something,  I  know  not  what,  as  the  light  began 
to  dawn  on  me.  And  then  I  added,  "  I  had  not  thought 
about  the  General." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Mr.  Wharton,  "  just  so.  And  now  you 
may  easily  imagine  that  General  Wilkinson  has  come  to 
a  very  pretty  arrangement  with  Miro.  For  a  certain 
stipulated  sum  best  known  to  Wilkinson  and  Miro,  General 
Wilkinson  agrees  gradually  to  detach  Kentucky  from  the 
Union  and  join  it  to  his  Catholic  Majesty's  dominion  of 
Louisiana.  The  bribe — the  opening  of  the  river.  What 
the  government  could  not  do  Wilkinson  did  by  the  lift 
ing  of  his  finger." 

Still  Mr.  Wharton  spoke  without  heat. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  said,  "  we  have  no  proof  of  this,  and 


328  THE   CROSSING 

that  is  my  reason  for  coming  here  to-night,  Mr.  Ritchie. 
I  want  you  to  get  proof  of  it  if  you  can." 

"  You  want  me  —  "I  said,  bewildered. 

"  I  repeat  that  you  are  not  handsome,"  —  I  think  he  em 
phasized  this  unduly,  —  "  that  you  are  self-effacing,  incon 
spicuous  ;  in  short,  you  are  not  a  man  to  draw  suspicion. 
You  might  travel  anywhere  and  scarcely  be  noticed,  —  I 
have  observed  that  about  you.  In  addition  to  this  you 
are  wary,  you  are  discreet,  you  are  painstaking.  I  ask 
you  to  go  first  to  St.  Louis,  in  Louisiana  territory,  and 
this  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  it  will  draw  any 
chance  suspicion  from  your  real  objective,  New  Orleans  ; 
and  second,  because  it  is  necessary  to  get  letters  to  New 
Orleans  from  such  leading  citizens  of  St.  Louis  as  Colonel 
Chouteau  and  Monsieur  Gratiot,  and  I  will  give  you  in 
troductions  to  them.  You  are  then  to  take  passage  to 
New  Orleans  in  a  barge  of  furs  which  Monsieur  Gratiot 
is  sending  down.  Mind,  we  do  not  expect  that  you  will 
obtain  proof  that  Miro  is  paying  Wilkinson  money.  If 
you  do,  so  much  the  better  ;  but  we  believe  that  both  are 
too  sharp  to  leave  any  tracks.  You  will  make  a  report, 
however,  upon  the  conditions  under  which  our  tobacco 
is  being  received,  and  of  all  other  matters  which  you  may 
think  germane  to  the  business  in  hand.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

I  had  made  up  my  mind. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  I  answered. 

"  Good,"  said  Mr.  Wharton,  but  with  no  more  enthu 
siasm  than  he  had  previously  shown  ;  "  I  thought  I  had 
not  misjudged  you.  Is  your  law  business  so  onerous  that 
you  could  not  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

I  laughed. 

"  I  think  I  could  settle  what  affairs  I  have  by  noon,  Mr. 
Wharton,"  I  replied. 

"Egad,  Mr.  Ritchie,  I  like  your  manner,"  said  he ;  "  and 
now  for  a  few  details,  and  you  may  go  to  bed." 

He  sat  with  me  half  an  hour  longer,  carefully  reviewing 
his  instructions,  and  then  he  left  me  to  a  night  of  con 
templation. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

TO   ST.    LOUIS 

BY  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  had  wound  up 
my  affairs,  having  arranged  with  a  young  lawyer  of  my 
acquaintance  to  take  over  such  cases  as  I  had,  and  I  was 
busy  in  my  room  packing  my  saddle-bags  for  the  journey. 
The  warm  scents  of  spring  were  wafted  through  the  open 
door  and  window,  smells  of  the  damp  earth  giving  forth 
the  green  things,  and  tender  shades  greeted  my  eyes  when 
I  paused  and  raised  my  head  to  think.  Purple  buds  lit 
tered  the  black  ground  before  my  door-step,  and  against 
the  living  green  of  the  grass  I  saw  the  red  stain  of  a 
robin's  breast  as  he  hopped  spasmodically  hither  and 
thither,  now  pausing  immovable  with  his  head  raised,  now 
tossing  triumphantly  a  wriggling  worm  from  the  sod. 
Suddenly  he  flew  away,  and  I  heard  a  voice  from  the 
street  side  that  brought  me  stark  upright. 

"Hold  there,  neighbor;  can  you  direct  me  to  the  man 
sion  of  that  celebrated  barrister,  Mr.  Ritchie  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  voice  —  it  was  Nicholas 
Temple's.  I  heard  a  laugh  and  an  answer,  the  gate 
slammed,  and  Mr.  Temple  himself  in  a  long  gray  riding- 
coat,  booted  and  spurred,  stood  before  me. 

"  Davy,"  he  cried,  "  come  out  here  and  hug  me.  Why, 
you  look  as  if  I  were  your  grandmother's  ghost." 

"And  if  you  were,"  I  answered,  "you  could  not  have 
surprised  me  more.  Where  have  you  been  ? " 

"At  Jonesboro,  acting  the  gallant  with  the  widow, 
winning  and  losing  skins  and  cow-bells  and  land  at  rattle- 
and-snap,  horse-racing  with  that  wild  Mr.  Jackson.  Faith, 
he  near  shot  the  top  of  my  head  off  because  I  beat  him  at 
Greasy  Cove." 

329 


330  THE   CROSSING 

I  laughed,  despite  my  anxiety. 

"  And  Sevier  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  You  have  not  heard  how  Sevier  got  off  ?  "  exclaimed 
Nick.  "  Egad,  that  was  a  crowning  stroke  of  genius  I 
Cozby  and  Evans,  Captains  Greene  and  Gibson,  and  Se- 
vier's  two  boys  whom  you  met  on  the  Nollichucky  rode 
over  the  mountains  to  Morganton.  Greene  and  Gibson 
and  Sevier's  boys  hid  themselves  with  the  horses  in  a 
clump  outside  the  town,  while  Cozby  and  Evans,  disguised 
as  bumpkins  in  hunting  shirts,  jogged  into  the  town  with 
Sevier's  racing  mare  between  them.  They  jogged  into  the 
town,  I  say.  through  the  crowds  of  white  trash,  and  rode  up 
to  the  court-house  where  Sevier  was  being  tried  for  his  life. 
Evans  stood  at  the  open  door  and  held  the  mare  and 
gaped,  while  Cozby  stalked  in  and  shouldered  his  way  to 
the  front  within  four  feet  of  the  bar,  like  a  big,  awkward 
countryman.  Jack  Sevier  saw  him,  and  he  saw  Evans 
with  the  mare  outside.  Then,  by  thunder,  Cozby  takes  a 
step  right  up  to  the  bar  and  cries  out,  *  Judge,  aren't  you 
about  done  with  that  man  ?  '  Faith,  it  was  like  judgment 
day,  such  a  mix-up  as  there  was  after  that,  and  Nollichucky 
Jack  made  three  leaps  and  got  on  the  mare,  and  in  the 
confusion  Cozby  and  Evans  were  off  too,  and  the  whole 
State  of  North  Carolina  couldn't  catch  'em  then."  Nick 
sighed.  "I'd  have  given  my  soul  to  have  been  there,"  he 
said. 

"  Come  in,"  said  I,  for  lack  of  something  better. 

"  Cursed  if  you  haven't  given  me  a  sweet  reception, 
Davy,"  said  he.  "  Have  you  lost  your  practice,  or  is 
there  a  lady  here,  you  rogue,"  and  he  poked  into  the 
cupboard  with  his  stick.  "  Hullo,  where  are  you  going 
now?"  he  added,  his  eye  falling  on  the  saddle-bags. 

I  had  it  on  my  lips  to  say,  and  then  I  remembered  Mr. 
Wharton's  injunction. 

"  I'm  going  on  a  journey,"  said  I. 

"  When  ?  "  said  Nick. 

"  I  leave  in  about  an  hour,"  said  I. 

He  sat  down.     "  Then  I  leave  too,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Nick  ?  "  I  demanded. 


TO   ST.   LOUIS  331 

"  I  mean  that  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  shall  be  gone  three  months  or  more,"  I  protested. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do,"  said  Nick,  placidly. 

A  vague  trouble  had  been  working  in  my  mind,  but 
now  the  full  horror  of  it  dawned  upon  me.  I  was  going 
to  St.  Louis.  Mrs.  Temple  and  Harry  Riddle  were  gone 
there,  so  Polly  Ann  had  avowed,  and  Nick  could  not  help 
meeting  Riddle.  Sorely  beset,  I  bent  over  to  roll  up  a 
shirt,  and  refrained  from  answering. 

He  came  and  laid  a  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"What  the  devil  ails  you,  Davy?"  he  cried.  "If  it  is 
an  elopement,  of  course  I  won't  press  you.  I'm  hanged 
if  I'll  make  a  third." 

"  It  is  no  elopement,"  I  retorted,  my  face  growing  hot 
in  spite  of  myself. 

"  Then  I  go  with  you,"  said  he,  "  for  I  vow  you  need 
taking  care  of.  You  can't  put  me  off,  I  say.  But  never 
in  my  life  have  I  had  such  a  reception,  and  from  my  own 
first  cousin,  too." 

I  was  in  a  quandary,  so  totally  unforeseen  was  this  situ 
ation.  And  then  a  glimmer  of  hope  came  to  me  that  per 
haps  his  mother  and  Riddle  might  not  be  in  St.  Louis 
after  all.  I  recalled  the  conversation  in  the  cabin,  and 
reflected  that  this  wayward  pair  had  stranded  on  so  many 
beaches,  had  drifted  off  again  on  so  many  tides,  that  one 
place  could  scarce  hold  them  long.  Perchance  they  had 
sunk,  —  who  could  tell  ?  I  turned  to  Nick,  who  stood 
watching  me. 

"  It  was  not  that  I  did  not  want  you,"  I  said,  "  you 
must  believe  that.  I  have  wanted  you  ever  since  that 
night  long  ago  when  I  slipped  out  of  your  bed  and  ran 
away.  I  am  going  first  to  St.  Louis  and  then  to  New 
Orleans  on  a  mission  of  much  delicacy,  a  mission  that  re 
quires  discretion  and  secrecy.  You  may  come,  with  all 
my  heart,  with  one  condition  only  —  that  you  do  not  ask 
my  business." 

"  Done  !  "  cried  Nick.  "  Davy,  I  was  always  sure  of 
you;  you  are  the  one  fixed  quantity  in  my  life.  To  St. 
Louis,  eh,  and  to  New  Orleans  ?  Egad,  what  havoc  we'll 


332  THE   CEOSSING 

make  among  the  Creole  girls.  May  I  bring  my  nigger? 
He'll  do  things  for  you  too." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  I,  laughing,  "only  hurry." 

"  I'll  run  to  the  inn,"  said  Nick,  "  and  be  back  in  ten 
minutes."  He  got  as  far  as  the  door,  slapped  his  thigh, 
and  looked  back.  "  Davy,  we  may  run  across  —  " 

"  Who?  "  I  asked,  with  a  catch  of  my  breath. 

"Harry  Riddle,"  he  answered;  "and  if  so,  may  God 
have  mercy  on  his  soul !  " 

He  ran  down  the  path,  the  gate  clicked,  and  I  heard 
him  whistling  in  the  street  on  his  way  to  the  inn. 

After  dinner  we  rode  down  to  the  ferry,  Nick  on  the 
thoroughbred  which  had  beat  Mr.  Jackson's  horse,  and 
his  man,  Benjy,  on  a  scraggly  pony  behind.  Benjy  was  a 
small,  black  negro  with  a  very  squat  nose,  alert  and  talka 
tive  save  when  Nick  turned  on  him.  Benjy  had  been 
born  at  Temple  Bow ;  he  worshipped  his  master  and  all 
that  pertained  to  him,  and  he  showered  upon  me  all  the 
respect  and  attention  that  was  due  to  a  member  of  the 
Temple  family.  For  this  I  was  very  grateful.  It  would 
have  been  an  easier  journey  had  we  taken  a  boat  down  to 
Fort  Massac,  but  such  a  proceeding  might  have  drawn  too 
much  attention  to  our  expedition.  I  have  no  space  to  de 
scribe  that  trip  overland,  which  reminded  me  at  every 
stage  of  the  march  against  Kaskaskia,  the  woods,  the 
chocolate  streams,  the  coffee-colored  swamps  flecked  with 
dead  leaves,  —  and  at  length  the  prairies,  the  grass  not 
waist-high  now,  but  young  and  tender,  giving  forth  the 
acrid  smell  of  spring.  Nick  was  delighted.  He  made  me 
recount  every  detail  of  my  trials  as  a  drummer  boy,  or 
kept  me  in  continuous  spells  of  laughter  over  his  own 
escapades.  In  short,  I  began  to  realize  that  we  were  as 
near  to  each  other  as  though  we  had  never  been  parted. 

We  looked  down  upon  Kaskaskia  from  the  self -same 
spot  where  I  had  stood  on  the  bluff  with  Colonel  Clark, 
and  the  sounds  were  even  then  the  same,  —  the  sweet 
tones  of  the  church  bell  and  the  lowing  of  the  cattle.  We 
found  a  few  Virginians  and  Pennsylvanians  scattered  in 
amongst  the  French,  the  forerunners  of  that  change  which 


TO  ST.  LOUIS  333 

was  to  come  orer  this  country.  And  we  spent  the  night 
with  my  old  friend,  Father  Gibault,  still  the  faithful  pas 
tor  of  his  flock  ;  cheerful,  though  the  savings  of  his  lifetime 
had  never  been  repaid  by  that  country  to  which  he  had 
given  his  allegiance  so  freely.  Travelling  by  easy  stages, 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  leaving  Kaskaskia 
we  picked  our  way  down  the  high  bluff  that  rises  above 
the  American  bottom,  and  saw  below  us  that  yellow  mon 
ster  among  the  rivers,  the  Mississippi.  A  blind  monster 
he  seemed,  searching  with  troubled  arms  among  the 
islands  for  his  bed,  swept  onward  by  an  inexorable  force, 
and  on  his  heaving  shoulders  he  carried  great  trees  pilfered 
from  the  unknown  forests  of  the  North. 

Down  in  the  moist  and  shady  bottom  we  came  upon  the 
log  hut  of  a  half-breed  trapper,  and  he  agreed  to  ferry  us 
across.  As  for  our  horses,  a  keel  boat  must  be  sent  after 
these,  and  Monsieur  Gratiot  would  no  doubt  easily  ar 
range  for  this.  And  so  we  found  ourselves,  about  five 
o'clock  on  that  Saturday  evening,  embarked  in  a  wide 
pirogue  on  the  current,  dodging  the  driftwood,  avoiding 
the  eddies,  and  drawing  near  to  a  village  set  on  a  low 
bluff  on  the  Spanish  side  and  gleaming  white  among  the 
trees.  And  as  I  looked,  the  thought  came  again  like  a 
twinge  of  pain  that  Mrs.  Temple  and  Riddle  might  be 
there,  thinking  themselves  secure  in  this  spot,  so  removed 
from  the  world  and  its  doings. 

"  How  now,  my  man  of  mysterious  affairs  ?  "  cried  Nick, 
from  the  bottom  of  the  boat ;  "  you  are  as  puckered  as  a 
sour  persimmon.  Have  you  a  treaty  with  Spain  in  your 
pocket  or  a  declaration  of  war  ?  What  can  trouble  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,  if  you  do  not,"  I  answered,  smiling. 

"  Lord  send  we  don't  admire  the  same  lady,  then,"  said 
Nick.  "  Pierrot,"  he  cried,  turning  to  one  of  the  boat 
men,  "  il  y  a  des  belles  demoiselles  Id,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  " 

The  man  missed  a  stroke  in  his  astonishment,  and  the 
boat  swung  lengthwise  in  the  swift  current. 

" Dame,  Monsieur,  il  y  en  a"  he  answered. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  French,  Nick  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Mr.  Mason  had  it  hammered  into  me,"  he  answered 


334  THE  CROSSING 

carelessly,  his  eyes  on  the  line  of  keel  boats  moored  along 
the  shore.  Our  guides  shot  the  canoe  deftly  between  two 
of  these,  the  prow  grounded  in  the  yellow  mud,  and  we 
landed  on  Spanish  territory. 

We  looked  about  us  while  our  packs  were  being 
unloaded,  and  the  place  had  a  strange  flavor  in  that 
year  of  our  Lord,  1789.  A  swarthy  boatman  in  a  tow 
shirt  with  a  bright  handkerchief  on  his  head  stared  at 
us  over  the  gunwale  of  one  of  the  keel  boats,  and  spat 
into  the  still,  yellow  water ;  three  high-cheeked  Indians, 
with  smudgy  faces  and  dirty  red  blankets,  regarded  us 
in  silent  contempt ;  and  by  the  water-side  above  us  was  a 
sled  loaded  with  a  huge  water  cask,  a  bony  mustang 
pony  between  the  shafts,  and  a  chanting  negro  dipping 
gourdfuls  from  the  river.  A  road  slanted  up  the  little 
limestone  bluff,  and  above  and  below  us  stone  houses 
could  be  seen  nestling  into  the  hill,  houses  higher  on  the 
river  side,  and  with  galleries  there.  We  climbed  the 
bluff,  Benjy  at  our  heels  with  the  saddle-bags,  and  found 
ourselves  on  a  yellow-clay  street  lined  with  grass  and 
wild  flowers.  A  great  peace  hung  over  the  village,  an 
air  of  a  different  race,  a  restfulness  strange  to  a  Ken- 
tuckian.  Clematis  and  honeysuckle  climbed  the  high 
palings,  and  behind  the  privacy  of  these,  low,  big-chim 
neyed  houses  of  limestone,  weathered  gray,  could  be  seen, 
their  roofs  sloping  in  gentle  curves  to  the  shaded  porches 
in  front;  or  again,  houses  of  posts  set  upright  in  the 
ground  and  these  filled  between  with  plaster,  and  so  im 
maculately  whitewashed  that  they  gleamed  against  the 
green  of  the  trees  which  shaded  them.  Behind  the 
houses  was  often  a  kind  of  pink-and-cream  paradise  of 
flowering  fruit  trees,  so  dear  to  the  French  settlers. 
There  were  vineyards,  too,  and  thrifty  patches  of  vegeta 
bles,  and  lines  of  flowers  set  in  the  carefully  raked  mould. 

We  walked  on,  enraptured  by  the  sights  around  us,  by 
the  heavy  scent  of  the  roses  and  the  blossoms.  Here  was 
a  quaint  stone  horse-mill,  a  stable,  or  a  barn  set  uncouthly 
on  the  street ;  a  baker's  shop,  with  a  glimpse  of  the  white- 
capped  baker  through  the  shaded  doorway,  and  an  appetiz- 


TO   ST.   LOUIS  335 

ing  smell  of  hot  bread  in  the  air.  A  little  farther  on  we 
heard  the  tinkle  of  the  blacksmith's  hammer,  and  the  man 
himself  looked  up  from  where  the  hoof  rested  on  his  Leather 
apron  to  give  us  a  kindly  '•'•Bon  soir,  Messieurs"  as  we 
passed.  And  here  was  a  cabaret,  with  the  inevitable  porch, 
from  whence  came  the  sharp  click  of  billiard  balls. 

We  walked  on,  stopping  now  and  again  to  peer  between 
the  palings,  when  we  heard,  amidst  the  rattling  of  a  cart 
and  the  jingling  of  bells,  a  chorus  of  voices  :  — 

"  A  cheval,  a  cheval,  pour  aller  voir  ma  mie, 
Lon,  Ion,  la!" 

A  shaggy  Indian  pony  came  ambling  around  the  corner 
between  the  long  shafts  of  a  charette.  A  bareheaded 
young  man  in  tow  shirt  and  trousers  was  driving,  and 
three  laughing  girls  were  seated  on  the  stools  in  the  cart 
behind  him.  Suddenly,  before  I  quite  realized  what  had 
happened,  the  young  man  pulled  up  the  pony,  the  girls 
fell  silent,  and  Nick  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  bowing  elaborately. 

"Je  vous  salue,  Mesdemoiselles"  he  cried,  "mes  anges 
d  char-d-banc.  Pouvez-vous  me  diriger  chez  Monsieur 
G-ratiot?" 

"  Sapristi  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  but  he  laughed. 
The  young  women  stood  up,  giggling,  and  peered  at  Nick 
over  the  young  man's  shoulder.  One  of  them  wore  a  fresh 
red-and- white  calamanco  gown.  She  had  a  complexion  of 
ivory  tinged  with  red,  raven  hair,  and  dusky,  long-lashed, 
mischievous  eyes  brimming  with  merriment. 

"Volontiers,  Monsieur"  she  answered,  before  the  others 
could  catch  their  breath,  "premiere  droite  et  premiere 
gauche.  Allans,  Graspard!"  she  cried,  tapping  the  young 
man  sharply  on  the  shoulder,  "  es  tufou?  " 

Gaspard  came  to  himself,  flicked  the  pony,  and  they 
went  off  down  the  road  with  shouts  of  laughter,  while 
Nick  stood  waving  his  hat  until  they  turned  the  corner. 

"Egad,"  said  he,  "I'd  take  to  the  highway  if  I  could 
be  sure  of  holding  up  such  a  cargo  every  time.  Off 
with  you,  Benjy,  and  find  out  where  she  lives,"  he  cried ; 


336  THE   CROSSING 

and  the  obedient  Benjy  dropped  the  saddle-bags  as  though 
such  commands  were  not  uncommon. 

"  Pick  up  those  bags,  Benjy,"  said  I,  laughing. 

Benjy  glanced  uncertainly  at  his  master. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  you  black  scalawag,"  said  Nick,  "  or 
I'll  tan  you.  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  Marse  Dave  —  "  began  Benjy,  rolling  his  eyes  in  dis 
comfiture. 

"  Look  you,  Nick  Temple,"  said  I,  "  when  you  shipped 
with  me  you  promised  that  I  should  command.  I  can't 
afford  to  have  the  town  about  our  ears." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,"  said  Nick. 
"  A  little  honest  diversion  —  Pick  up  the  bags,  Benjy, 
and  follow  the  parson." 

Obeying  Mademoiselle's  directions,  we  trudged  on  until 
we  came  to  a  comfortable  stone  house  surrounded  by 
trees  and  set  in  a  half-block  bordered  by  a  seven-foot 
paling.  Hardly  had  we  opened  the  gate  when  a  tall 
gentleman  of  grave  demeanor  and  sober  dress  rose  from  his 
seat  on  the  porch,  and  I  recognized  my  friend  of  Cahokia 
days,  Monsieur  Gratiot.  He  was  a  little  more  portly,  his 
hair  was  dressed  now  in  an  eelskin,  and  he  looked  every 
inch  the  man  of  affairs  that  he  was.  He  greeted  us  kindly 
and  bade  us  come  up  on  the  porch,  where  he  read  my  letter 
of  introduction. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed  immediately,  giving  me  a  cor 
dial  grasp  of  the  hand,  "  of  course.  The  strategist,  the 
John  Law,  the  reader  of  character  of  Colonel  Clark's 
army.  Yes,  and  worse,  the  prophet,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

"  And  why  worse,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  predicted  that  Congress  would  never  repay  me 
for  the  little  loan  I  advanced  to  your  Colonel." 

"  It  was  not  such  a  little  loan,  Monsieur,"  I  said. 

"N'importe,"  said  he  ;  "  I  went  to  Richmond  with  my 
box  of  scrip  and  promissory  notes,  but  I  was  not  ill  re 
paid.  If  I  did  not  get  my  money,  I  acquired,  at  least,  a 
host  of  distinguished  acquaintances.  But,  Mr.  Ritchie, 
you  must  introduce  me  to  your  friend." 

"  My  cousin,  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple,"  I  said. 


TO   ST.   LOUIS  337 

Monsieur  Gratiot  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"  Of  the  Charlestown  Temples  ? "  he  asked,  and  a 
sudden  vague  fear  seized  me. 

"Yes,"  said  Nick,  "there  was  once  a  family  of  that  name." 

"  And  now  ?  "  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  puzzled. 

"  Now,"  said  Nick,  "  now  they  are  become  a  worthless 
lot  of  refugees  and  outlaws,  who  by  good  fortune  have 
escaped  the  gallows." 

Before  Monsier  Gratiot  could  answer,  a  child  came  run 
ning  around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  stood,  surprised, 
staring  at  us.  Nick  made  a  face,  stooped  down,  and 
twirled  his  finger.  Shouting  with  a  terrified  glee,  the  boy 
fled  to  the  garden  path,  Nick  after  him. 

"  I  like  Mr.  Temple,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  smiling. 
"  He  is  young,  but  he  seems  to  have  had  a  history." 

"The  Revolution  ruined  many  families  —  his  was  one,'* 
I  answered,  with  what  firmness  of  tone  I  could  muster. 
And  then  Nick  came  back,  carrying  the  shouting  young 
ster  on  his  shoulders.  At  that  instant  a  lady  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  leading  another  child,  and  we  were  in 
troduced  to  Madame  Gratiot. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot,  "you  must  make 
my  house  your  home.  I  fear  your  visit  will  not  be  as 
long  as  I  could  wish,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  added,  turning  to 
me,  "  if  Mr.  Wharton  correctly  states  your  business. 
I  have  an  engagement  to  have  my  furs  in  New  Orleans 
by  a  certain  time.  I  am  late  in  loading,  and  as  there  is  a 
moon  I  am  sending  off  my  boats  to-morrow  night.  The 
men  will  have  to  work  on  Sunday." 

"We  were  fortunate  to  come  in  such  good  season," 
I  answered. 

After  a  delicious  supper  of  gumbo,  a  Creole  dish, 
of  fricassee,  of  crdme  brul£,  of  red  wine  and  fresh  wild 
strawberries,  we  sat  on  the  porch.  The  crickets  chirped 
in  the  garden,  the  moon  cast  fantastic  shadows  from  the 
pecan  tree  on  the  grass,  while  Nick,  struggling  with  his 
French,  talked  to  Madame  Gratiot ;  and  now  and  then 
their  gay  laughter  made  Monsieur  Gratiot  pause  and 
smile  as  he  talked  to  me  of  my  errand.  It  seemed  strange 


338  THE  CEOSSIKG 

to  me  that  a  man  who  had  lost  so  much  by  his  espousal  ol 
our  cause  should  still  be  faithful  to  the  American  re 
public.  Although  he  lived  in  Louisiana,  he  had  never 
renounced  the  American  allegiance  which  he  had  taken 
at  Cahokia.  He  regarded  with  no  favor  the  pretensions 
of  Spain  toward  Kentucky.  And  (remarkably  enough) 
he  looked  forward  even  then  to  the  day  when  Louisiana 
would  belong  to  the  republic.  I  exclaimed  at  this. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  he,  "  the  most  casual  student  of 
your  race  must  come  to  the  same  conclusion.  You  have 
seen  for  yourself  how  they  have  overrun  and  conquered 
Kentucky  and  the  Cumberland  districts,  despite  a  hideous 
warfare  waged  by  all  the  tribes  Your  people  will  not  be 
denied,  and  when  they  get  to  Louisiana,  they  will  take  it, 
as  they  take  everything  else." 

He  was  a  man  strong  in  argument,  was  Monsieur 
Gratiot,  for  he  loved  it.  And  he  beat  me  fairly. 

"  Nay,"  he  said  finally,  "  Spain  might  as  well  try  to 
dam  the  Mississippi  as  to  dam  your  commerce  on  it.  As 
for  France,  I  love  her,  though  my  people  were  exiled  to 
Switzerland  by  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  But  France  is  rotten 
through  the  prodigality  of  her  kings  and  nobles,  and  she 
cannot  hold  Louisiana.  The  kingdom  is  sunk  in  debt." 
He  cleared  his  throat.  "  As  for  this  Wilkinson  of  whom 
you  speak,  I  know  something  of  him.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Miro  pensions  him,  but  I  know  Miro  likewise,  and 
you  will  obtain  no  proof  of  that.  You  will,  however, 
discover  in  New  Orleans  many  things  of  interest  to  your 
government  and  to  the  Federal  party  in  Kentucky. 
Colonel  Chouteau  and  I  will  give  you  letters  to  certain 
French  gentlemen  in  New  Orleans  who  can  be  trusted. 
There  is  Saint-Gre,  for  instance,  who  puts  a  French 
Louisiana  into  his  prayers.  He  has  never  forgiven 
O'Reilly  and  his  Spaniards  for  the  murder  of  his  father  in 
sixty-nine.  Saint-Gre  is  a  good  fellow,  —  a  cousin  of  the 
present  Marquis  in  France,  —  and  his  ancestors  held  many 
positions  of  trust  in  the  colony  under  the  French  regime. 
Ho  entertains  lavishly  at  Les  lies,  his  plantation  on  the 
Mississippi.  He  has  the  gossip  of  New  Orleans  at  his 


TO  ST.  LOUIS  339 

tongue's  tip,  and  you  will  be  suspected  of  nothing  save  a 
desire  to  amuse  yourselves  if  you  go  there."  He  paused, 
interrupted  by  the  laughter  of  the  others.  "  When 
strangers  of  note  or  of  position  drift  here  and  pass  on  to 
New  Orleans,  I  always  give  them  letters  to  Saint-Gre.  He 
has  a  charming  daughter  and  a  worthless  son." 

Monsieur  Gratiot  produced  his  tabatiere  and  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff.  I  summoned  my  courage  for  the  topic 
which  had  trembled  all  the  evening  on  my  lips. 

"  Some  years  ago,  Monsieur  Gratiot,  a  lady  and  a 
gentleman  were  rescued  on  the  Wilderness  Trail  in  Ken 
tucky.  They  left  us  for  St.  Louis.  Did  they  come  here  ?  " 

Monsieur  Gratiot  leaned  forward  quickly. 

"  They  were  people  of  quality  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  their  name  ?  " 

"  They  —  they  did  not  say." 

"  It  must  have  been  the  Olives,"  he  cried  ;  "it  can  have 
been  no  other.  Tell  me  —  a  woman  still  beautiful, 
commanding,  of  perhaps  eight  and  thirty  ?  A  woman  who 
had  a  sorrow  ?  —  a  great  sorrow,  though  we  have  never 
learned  it.  And  Mr.  Olive,  a  man  of  fashion,  ill  content 
too,  and  pining  for  the  life  of  a  capital  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said  eagerly,  my  voice  sinking  near  to  a 
whisper,  "  yes  —  it  is  they.  And  are  they  here  ?  " 

Monsieur  Gratiot  took  another  pinch  of  snuff.  It 
seemed  an  age  before  he  answered  :  — 

"  It  is  curious  that  you  should  mention  them,  for  I  gave 
them  letters  to  New  Orleans,  —  amongst  others,  to  Saint- 
Gre.  Mrs.  Olive  was  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  haunted. 
Monsieur  Olive  talked  of  nothing  but  Paris,  where  they 
liad  lived  once.  And  at  last  she  gave  in.  They  have 
gone  there." 

"  To  Paris  ?  "  I  said,  taking  breath. 

"  Yes.  It  is  more  than  a  year  ago,"  he  continued,  seem 
ing  not  to  notice  my  emotion ;  "  they  went  by  way  of 
New  Orleans,  in  one  of  Chouteau's  boats." 


CHAPTER   IX 

"CHERCHEZ   LA   FEMME  " 

SUNDAY  came  with  the  soft  haziness  of  a  Jnne  morning, 
and  the  dew  sucked  a  fresh  fragrance  from  the  blossoms 
and  the  grass.  I  looked  out  of  our  window  at  the  orchard, 
all  pink  and  white  in  the  early  sun,  and  across  a  patch  of 
clover  to  the  stone  kitchen.  A  pearly,  feathery  smoke 
was  wafted  from  the  chimney,  a  delicious  aroma  of  Creole 
coffee  pervaded  the  odor  of  the  blossoms,  and  a  cotton- 
clad  negro  a  pieds  nus  came  down  the  path  with  two 
steaming  cups  and  knocked  at  our  door.  He  who  has 
tasted  Creole  coffee  will  never  forget  it.  The  effect  of  it 
was  lost  upon  Nick,  for  he  laid  down  the  cup,  sighed,  and 
promptly  went  to  sleep  again,  while  I  dressed  and  went 
forth  to  make  his  excuses  to  the  family.  I  found  Mon 
sieur  and  Madame  with  their  children  walking  among  the 
flowers.  Madame  laughed. 

"  He  is  charming,  your  cousin,"  said  she.  "  Let  him 
sleep,  by  all  means,  until  after  Mass.  Then  you  must 
come  with  us  to  Madame  Chouteau's,  my  mother's.  Her 
children  and  grandchildren  dine  with  her  every  Sunday." 

"  Madame  Chouteau,  my  mother-in-law,  is  the  queen 
regent  of  St.  Louis,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot, 
gayly.  "We  are  all  afraid  of  her,  and  I  warn  you  that 
she  is  a  very  determined  and  formidable  personage.  She 
is  the  widow  of  the  founder  of  St.  Louis,  the  Sieur  La- 
cleide,  although  she  prefers  her  own  name.  She  rules  us 
with  a  strong  hand,  dispenses  justice,  settles  disputes,  and 
—  sometimes  indulges  in  them  herself.  It  is  her  right." 

"  You  will  see  a  very  pretty  French  custom  of  submis 
sion  to  parents,"  said  Madame  Gratiot.  "  And  afterwards 
there  is  a  ball." 

340 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  341 

"  A  ball  !  "  I  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"  It  may  seem  very  strange  to  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,  but  we 
believe  that  Sunday  was  made  to  enjoy.  They  will  have 
time  to  attend  the  ball  before  you  send  them  down  the 
river  ? "  she  added  mischievously,  turning  to  her  hus 
band. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he ;  "  the  loading  will  not  be  finished 
before  eight  o'clock." 

Presently  Madame  Gratiot  went  off  to  Mass,  while  I 
walked  with  Monsieur  Gratiot  to  a  storehouse  near  the 
river's  bank,  whence  the  skins,  neatly  packed  and  num 
bered,  were  being  carried  to  the  boats  on  the  sweat 
ing  shoulders  of  the  negroes,  the  half-breeds,  and  the 
Canadian  boatmen,  —  bulky  bales  of  yellow  elk,  from  the 
upper  plains  of  the  Missouri,  of  buffalo  and  deer  and  bear, 
and  priceless  little  packages  of  the  otter  and  the  beaver 
trapped  in  the  green  shade  of  the  endless  Northern  forests, 
and  brought  hither  in  pirogues  down  the  swift  river  by 
the  red  tribesmen  and  Canadian  adventurers. 

Afterwards  I  strolled  about  the  silent  village.  Even 
the  cabarets  were  deserted.  A  private  of  the  Spanish 
Louisiana  Regiment  in  a  dirty  uniform  slouched  behind 
the  palings  in  front  of  the  commandant's  quarters,  —  a 
quaint  stone  house  set  against  the  hill,  with  dormer  win 
dows  in  its  curving  roof,  with  a  wide  porch  held  by  eight 
sturdy  hewn  pillars;  here  and  there  the  muffled  figure 
of  a  prowling  Indian  loitered,  or  a  barefooted  negress 
shuffled  along  by  the  fence  crooning  a  folk-song.  All 
the  world  had  obeyed  the  call  of  the  church  bell  save 
these  —  and  Nick.  I  bethought  myself  of  Nick,  and  made 
my  way  back  to  Monsieur  Gratiot's. 

I  found  my  cousin  railing  at  Benjy,  who  had  extracted 
from  the  saddle-bags  a  wondrous  graj  suit  of  London  cut 
in  which  to  array  his  master.  Clothes  became  Nick's 
slim  figure  remarkably.  This  coat  was  cut  away  smartly, 
like  a  uniform,  towards  the  tails,  and  was  brought  in  at 
the  waist  with  an  infinite  art. 

"Whither  now,  my  conquistador?"  I  said. 

"  To  Mass,"  said  he. 


S42  THE  CROSSING 

"  To  Mass  !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  but  you  have  slept  through 
the  greater  part  of  it." 

"The  best  part  is  to  come,"  said  Nick,  giving  a  final 
touch  to  his  neck-band.  Followed  by  Benjy's  adoring 
eyes,  he  started  out  of  the  door,  and  I  followed  him  per 
force.  We  came  to  the  little  church,  of  upright  logs  and 
plaster,  with  its  crudely  shingled,  peaked  roof,  with  its 
tiny  belfry  crowned  by  a  cross,  with  its  porches  on  each 
side  shading  the  line  of  windows  there.  Beside  the 
church,  a  little  at  the  back,  was  the  cure's  modest  house 
of  stone,  and  at  the  other  hand,  under  spreading  trees,  the 
graveyard  with  its  rough  wooden  crosses.  And  behind 
these  graves  rose  the  wooded  hill  that  stretched  away 
towards  the  wilderness. 

What  a  span  of  life  had  been  theirs  who  rested  here  ! 
Their  youth,  perchance,  had  been  spent  amongst  the 
crooked  streets  of  some  French  village,  streets  lined  by 
red-tiled  houses  and  crossing  limpid  streams  by  quaint 
bridges.  Death  had  overtaken  them  beside  a  monster 
tawny  river  of  which  their  imaginations  had  not  con 
ceived,  a  river  which  draws  tribute  from  the  remote 
places  of  an  unknown  land,  —  a  river,  indeed,  which, 
mixing  all  the  waters,  seemed  to  symbolize  a  coming  race 
which  was  to  conquer  the  land  by  its  resistless  flow,  even 
as  the  Mississippi  bore  relentlessly  towards  the  sea. 

These  were  my  own  thoughts  as  I  listened  to  the  tones 
of  the  priest  as  they  came,  droningly,  out  of  the  door, 
while  Nick  was  exchanging  jokes  in  doubtful  French  with 
some  half-breeds  leaning  against  the  palings.  Then  we 
heard  benches  scraping  on  the  floor,  and  the  congregation 
began  to  file  out. 

Those  who  reached  the  steps  gave  back,  respectfully, 
and  there  came  an  elderly  lady  in  a  sober  turban,  a  black 
mantilla  wrapped  tightly  about  her  shoulders,  and  I  made 
no  doubt  that  she  was  Monsieur  Gratiot's  mother-in-law, 
Madame  Chouteau,  she  whom  he  had  jestingly  called  the 
queen  regent.  I  was  sure  of  this  when  I  saw  Madame 
Gratiot  behind  her.  Madame  Chouteau  indeed  had  the 
face  of  authority,  a  high-bridged  nose,  a  determined  chin, 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  343 

ft  mouth  that  shut  tightly.  Madame  Gratiot  presented 
us  to  her  mother,  and  as  she  passed  on  to  the  gate 
Madame  Chouteau  reminded  us  that  we  were  to  dine  with 
her  at  two. 

After  her  the  congregation,  the  well-to-do  and  the  poor 
alike,  poured  out  of  the  church  and  spread  in  merry 
groups  over  the  grass :  keel  boatmen  in  tow  shirts  and 
party-colored  worsted  belts,  the  blacksmith,  the  shoemaker, 
the  farmer  of  a  small  plot  in  the  common  fields  in  large 
cotton  pantaloons  and  light-wove  camlet  coat,  the  more 
favored  in  skull-caps,  linen  small-clothes,  cotton  stockings, 
and  silver-buckled  shoes,  —  every  man  pausing,  dipping 
into  his  tabatiere,  for  a  word  with  his  neighbor.  The 
women,  too,  made  a  picture  strange  to  our  eyes,  the  matrons 
in  jacket  and  petticoat,  a  Madras  handkerchief  flung  about 
their  shoulders,  the  girls  in  fresh  cottonade  or  calamanco. 

All  at  once  cries  of  "  'Polyte  !  'Polyte  !  "  were  heard, 
and  a  nimble  young  man  with  a  jester-like  face  hopped 
around  the  corner  of  the  church,  trundling  a  barrel.  Be 
hind  'Polyte  came  two  rotund  little  men  perspiring  freely, 
and  laden  down  with  various  articles,  —  a  bird-cage  with 
two  yellow  birds,  a  hat-trunk,  an  inlaid  card  box,  a  roll  of 
scarlet  cloth,  and  I  know  not  what  else.  They  deposited 
these  on  the  grass  beside  the  barrel,  which  'Polyte  had  set 
on  end  and  proceeded  to  mount,  encouraged  by  the  shouts 
of  his  friends,  who  pressed  around  the  barrel. 

"  It's  an  auction,"  I  said. 

But  Nick  did  not  hear  me.  I  followed  his  glance  to 
the  far  side  of  the  circle,  and  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  red 
ribbon,  a  blush  that  matched  it.  A  glance  shot  from 
underneath  long  lashes, — but  not  for  me.  Beside  the  girl, 
and  palpably  uneasy,  stood  the  young  man  who  had  been 
called  Gaspard. 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "your  angel  of  the  tumbrel." 

But  Nick  had  pulled  off  his  hat  and  was  sweeping  her  a 
bow.  The  girl  looked  down,  smoothing  her  ribbon,  Gas 
pard  took  a  step  forward,  and  other  young  women  near  us 
tittered  with  delight.  The  voice  of  Hippolyte  rolling  hia 
r's  called  out  in  a  French  dialect :  — 


344  THE   CROSSING 

"  Messieurs  et  Mesdames,  ce  sont  des  effete  d'un  pauvre 
officier  qui  est  mort.  Who  will  buy  ? "  He  opened  the 
hat-trunk,  produced  an  antiquated  beaver  with  a  gold 
cord,  and  surveyed  it  with  a  covetousness  that  was  admi 
rably  feigned.  For  'Polyte  was  an  actor.  "  M'ssieurs,  to 
own  such  a  hat  were  a  patent  of  nobility.  Am  I  bid 
twenty  livres  ?  " 

There  was  a  loud  laughter,  and  he  was  bid  four. 

"  Gaspard,"  cried  the  auctioneer,  addressing  the  young 
man  of  the  tumbrel,  "  Suzanne  would  no  longer  hesitate  if 
she  saw  you  in  such  a  hat.  And  with  the  trunk,  too. 
Ah,  mon  Dieu,  can  you  afford  to  miss  it?  " 

The  crowd  howled,  Suzanne  simpered,  and  Gaspard 
turned  as  pink  as  clover.  But  he  was  not  to  be  bullied. 
The  hat  was  sold  to  an  elderly  person,  the  red  cloth  like 
wise  ;  a  pot  of  grease  went  to  a  housewife,  and  there  was 
a  veritable  scramble  for  the  box  of  playing  cards ;  and  at 
last  Hippolyte  held  up  the  wooden  cage  with  the  flutter 
ing  yellow  birds. 

"  Ha ! "  he  cried,  his  eyes  on  Gaspard  once  more,  "  a 
gentle  present  —  a  present  to  make  a  heart  relent.  And 
Monsieur  Le"on,  perchance  you  will  make  a  bid,  although 
they  are  not  gamecocks." 

Instantly,  from  somewhere  under  the  barrel,  a  cock  crew. 
Even  the  yellow  birds  looked  surprised,  and  as  for  'Polyte, 
he  nearly  dropped  the  cage.  One  elderly  person  crossed 
himself.  I  looked  at  Nick.  His  face  was  impassive,  but 
suddenly  I  remembered  his  boyhood  gift,  how  he  had  imi 
tated  the  monkeys,  and  I  began  to  shake  with  inward 
laughter.  There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence. 

"  Peste,  c'est  la  magie ! "  said  an  old  man  at  last, 
searching  with  an  uncertain  hand  for  his  snuff. 

"  Monsieur,"  cried  Nick  to  the  auctioneer,  "  I  will  make 
a  bid.  But  first  you  must  tell  me  whether  they  are  cocks 
or  yellow  birds." 

" Parbleu"  answered  the  pu/zled  Hippolyte,  " that  I  do 
not  know,  Monsieur." 

Everybody  looked  at  Nick,  including  Suzanne. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  make  a  bid.     And  if  they 


"CHERCHEZ   LA  FEMME"  345 

turn  out  to  be  gamecocks,  I  will  fight  them  with  Monsieur 
Leon  behind  the  cabaret.  Two  livres  !  " 

There  was  a  laugh,  as  of  relief. 

"  Three  !  "  cried  Gaspard,  and  his  voice  broke. 

Hippolyte  looked  insulted. 

" Messieurs"  he  shouted,  " they  are  from  the  Canaries. 
Diable,  un  berger  doit  £tre  gSnSreux." 

Another  laugh,  and  Gaspard  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  face. 

"  Five  !  "  said  he. 

"  Six !  "  said  Nick,  and  the  villagers  turned  to  him  in 
wonderment.  What  could  such  a  fine  Monsieur  want 
with  two  yellow  birds? 

"  En  avant,  Gaspard,"  said  Hippolyte,  and  Suzanne  shot 
another  barbed  glance  in  our  direction. 

4  Seven,"  muttered  Gaspard. 

'  Eight  !  "  said  Nick,  immediately. 

'Nine,"  said  Gaspard. 

4  Ten,"  said  Nick. 

'  Ten,"  cried  Hippolyte,  "  I  am  offered  ten  livres  for  the 
yellow  birds.  Une  bagatelle!  Onze,  Giaspard!  Onzef 
onze  livres,  pour  r amour  de  Suzanne  !  " 

But  Gaspard  was  silent.  No  appeals,  entreaties,  or 
taunts  could  persuade  him  to  bid  more.  And  at  length 
Hippolyte,  with  a  gesture  of  disdain,  handed  Nick  the  cage, 
as  though  he  were  giving  it  away. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  the  birds  are  yours,  since  there 
are  no  more  lovers  who  are  worthy  of  the  name.  They 
do  not  exist." 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  Nick,  "  it  is  to  disprove  that 
statement  that  I  have  bought  the  birds.  Mademoiselle," 
he  added,  turning  to  the  flushing  Suzanne,  "I  pray  that 
you  will  accept  this  present  with  every  assurance  of  my 
humble  regard." 

Mademoiselle  took  the  cage,  and  amidst  the  laughter 
of  the  village  at  the  discomfiture  of  poor  Gaspard,  swept 
Nick  a  frightened  courtesy,  —  one  that  nevertheless  was 
full  of  coquetry.  And  at  that  instant,  to  cap  the  situation, 
a  rotund  little  man  with  a  round  face  under  a  linen  biretta 


346  THE  CEOSSING 

grasped  Nick  by  the  hand,  and  cried  in  painful  but  sincere 
English :  — 

"  Monsieur,  you  mek  my  daughter  ver'  happy.  She  want 
those  bird  ever  sence  Captain  Lopez  he  die.  Monsieur,  I 
am  Jean  Baptiste  Lenoir,  Colonel  Chouteau's  miller,  and 
we  ver'  happy  to  see  you  at  the  pon'." 

"  If  Monsieur  will  lead  the  way,"  said  Nick,  instantly, 
taking  the  little  man  by  the  arm. 

"  But  you  are  to  dine  at  Madame  Chouteau's,"  I  ex 
postulated. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  he.  "  Au  revoir,  Monsieur.  Au  revoir, 
Mademoiselle.  Plus  tard,  Mademoiselle ;  nous  danserons plus 
tard." 

"  What  devil  inhabits  you  ?  "  I  said,  when  I  had  got  him 
started  on  the  way  to  Madame  Chouteau's. 

"  Your  own,  at  present,  Davy,"  he  answered,  laying  a 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  "  else  I  should  be  on  the  way  to  the 
pon'  with  Lenoir.  But  the  ball  is  to  come,"  and  he  exe 
cuted  several  steps  in  anticipation.  "  Davy,  I  am  sorry 
for  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  demanded,  though  feeling  a  little  self-com 
miseration  also. 

"  You  will  never  know  how  to  enjoy  yourself,"  said  he, 
with  conviction. 

Madame  Chouteau  lived  in  a  stone  house,  wide  and  low, 
surrounded  by  trees  and  gardens.  It  was  a  pretty  tribute 
of  respect  her  children  and  grandchildren  paid  her  that  day, 
in  accordance  with  the  old  French  usage  of  honoring  the 
parent.  I  should  like  to  linger  on  the  scene,  and  tell  how 
Nick  made  them  all  laugh  over  the  story  of  Suzanne  Lenoir 
and  the  yellow  birds,  and  how  the  children  pressed  around 
him  and  made  him  imitate  all  the  denizens  of  wood  and 
field,  amid  deafening  shrieks  of  delight. 

"  You  have  probably  delayed  Gaspard's  wooing  another 
year,  Mr.  Temple.  Suzanne  is  a  sad  coquette,"  said  Colonel 
Auguste  Chouteau,  laughing,  as  we  set  out  for  the  balL 

The  sun  was  hanging  low  over  the  western  hills  as  we 
approached  the  barracks,  and  out  of  the  open  windows 
came  the  merry,  mad  sounds  of  violin,  guitar,  and  flageo- 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  347 

let,  the  tinkle  of  a  triangle  now  and  then,  the  shouts  of 
laughter,  the  shuffle  of  many  feet  over  the  puncheons. 
Within  the  door,  smiling  and  benignant,  unmindful  of  the 
stifling  atmosphere,  sat  the  black-robed  village  priest  talk 
ing  volubly  to  an  elderly  man  in  a  scarlet  cap,  and  several 
stout  ladies  ranged  along  the  wall:  beyond  them,  on  a 
platform,  Zdron,  the  baker,  fiddled  as  though  his  life  de 
pended  on  it,  the  perspiration  dripping  from  his  brow, 
frowning,  gesticulating  at  them  with  the  flageolet  and  the 
triangle.  And  in  a  dim,  noisy,  heated  whirl  the  whole 
village  went  round  and  round  and  round  under  the  low 
ceiling  in  the  valse,  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  high 
and  low,  the  sound  of  their  laughter  and  the  scraping  of 
their  feet  cut  now  and  again  by  an  agonized  squeak  from 
Ze'ron's  fiddle.  From  time  to  time  a  staggering,  panting 
couple  would  fling  themselves  out,  help  themselves  liber 
ally  to  pink  sirop  from  the  bowl  on  the  side  table,  and 
then  fling  themselves  in  once  more,  until  Zdron  stopped 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  to  tune  up  for  a  pas  de  deux. 

Across  the  room,  by  the  sirop  bowl,  a  pair  of  red  ribbons 
flaunted,  a  pair  of  eyes  sent  a  swift  challenge,  Ze*ron  and 
his  assistants  struck  up  again,  and  there  in  a  corner  was 
Nick  Temple,  with  characteristic  effrontery  attempting  a 
pas  de  deux  with  Suzanne.  Though  Nick  was  ignorant, 
he  was  not  ungraceful,  and  the  village  laughed  and  admired. 
And  when  Zdron  drifted  back  into  a  valse  he  seized  Su 
zanne's  plump  figure  in  his  arms  and  bore  her,  unresisting, 
like  a  prize  among  the  dancers,  avoiding  alike  the  fat  and 
unwieldy,  the  clumsy  and  the  spiteful.  For  a  while  the 
tune  held  its  mad  pace,  and  ended  with  a  shriek  and  a  snap 
on  a  high  note,  for  Ze*ron  had  broken  a  string.  Amid  a 
burst  of  laughter  from  the  far  end  of  the  room  I  saw  Nick 
stop  before  an  open  window  in  which  a  prying  Indian  was 
framed,  swing  Suzanne  at  arm's  length,  and  bow  abruptly 
at  the  brave  with  a  grunt  that  startled  him  into  life. 

"  Va-£en,  mSchant !  "  shrieked  Suzanne,  excitedly. 

Poor  Gaspard !  Poor  Hippolyte !  They  would  gain 
Suzanne  for  a  dance  only  to  have  her  snatched  away  at 
the  next  by  the  slim  and  reckless  young  gentleman  in  the 


348  THE   CROSSING 

gray  court  clothes.  Little  Nick  cared  that  the  affair  soon 
became  the  amusement  of  the  company.  From  time  to 
time,  as  he  glided  past  with  Suzanne  on  his  shoulder,  he 
nodded  gayly  to  Colonel  Chouteau  or  made  a  long  face  at 
me,  and  to  save  our  souls  we  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  The  girl  has  met  her  match,  for  she  has  played  shuttle 
cock  with  all  the  hearts  in  the  village,"  said  Monsieur 
Chouteau.  "  But  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that  Mr.  Temple 
is  leaving  to-night.  I  have  signed  a  bon,  Mr.  Ritchie,  by 
which  you  can  obtain  money  at  New  Orleans.  And  do 
not  forget  to  present  our  letter  to  Monsieur  de  Saint  Gr^. 
He  has  a  daughter,  by  the  way,  who  will  be  more  of  a 
match  for  your  friend's  fascinations  than  Suzanne." 

The  evening  faded  into  twilight,  with  no  signs  of  weari 
ness  from  the  dancers.  And  presently  there  stood  beside 
us  Jean  Baptiste  Lenoir,  the  Colonel's  miller. 

"  jB'  soir,  Monsieur  le  Colonel,"  he  said,  touching  his  skull 
cap,  "  the  water  is  very  low.  You  f ren',"  he  added,  turn 
ing  to  me,  "  he  stay  long  time  in  St.  Louis  ?  " 

"  He  is  going  away  to-night,  —  in  an  hour  or  so,"  I 
answered,  with  thanksgiving  in  my  heart. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Monsieur  Lenoir,  politely,  but  his 
looks  belied  his  words.  "  He  is  ver'  fond  Suzanne.  Peut- 
etre  he  marry  her,  but  I  think  not.  I  come  away  from 
France  to  escape  the  fine  gentlemen ;  long  time  ago  they 
want  to  run  off  with  my  wife.  She  was  like  Suzanne." 

"  How  long  ago  did  you  come  from  France,  Monsieur  ?  " 
I  asked,  to  get  away  from  an  uncomfortable  subject. 

"  It  is  twenty  years,"  said  he,  dreamily,  in  French.  "  I 
was  born  in  the  Quartier  Saint  Jean,  on  the  harbor  of  the 
city  of  Marseilles  near  Notre  Dame  de  la  Nativitg"  And 
he  told  of  a  tall,  uneven  house  of  four  stories,  with  a  high 
pitched  roof,  and  a  little  barred  door  and  window  at  the 
bottom  giving  out  upon  the  rough  cobbles.  He  spoke  of 
the  smell  of  the  sea,  of  the  rollicking  sailors  who  surged 
through  the  narrow  street  to  embark  on  his  Majesty's  men- 
of-war,  and  of  the  King's  white  soldiers  in  ranks  of  four 
going  to  foreign  lands.  And  how  he  had  become  a  farmer, 
the  tenant  of  a  country  family.  Excitement  grew  on 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  349 

him,  and  lie  mopped  his  brow  with  his  blue  rumal  hand 
kerchief. 

"  They  desire  all,  the  nobles,"  he  cried,  "  I  make  the 
land  good,  and  they  seize  it.  I  marry  a  pretty  wife,  and 
Monsieur  le  Comte  he  want  her.  U  bon  Dieu"  he  added 
bitterly,  relapsing  into  French.  "  France  is  for  the  King 
and  the  nobility,  Monsieur.  The  poor  have  but  little  chance 
there.  In  the  country  I  have  seen  the  peasants  eat  roots, 
and  in  the  city  the  poor  devour  the  refuse  from  the  houses 
of  the  rich.  It  was  we  who  paid  for  their  luxuries,  and 
with  mine  own  eyes  I  have  seen  their  gilded  coaches  ride 
down  weak  men  and  women  in  the  streets.  But  it  can 
not  last.  They  will  murder  Louis  and  burn  the  great 
chateaux.  I,  who  speak  to  you,  am  of  the  people,  Mon 
sieur,  I  know  it." 

The  sun  had  long  set,  and  with  flint  and  tow  they  were 
touching  the  flame  to  the  candles,  which  flickered  trans 
parent  yellow  in  the  deepening  twilight.  So  absorbed  had 
I  become  in  listening  to  Lenoir's  description  that  I  had 
forgotten  Nick.  Now  I  searched  for  him  among  the  prome 
nading  figures,  and  missed  him.  In  vain  did  I  seek  for 
a  glimpse  of  Suzanne's  red  ribbons,  and  I  grew  less  and 
less  attentive  to  the  miller's  reminiscences  and  arraign 
ments  of  the  nobility.  Had  Nick  indeed  run  away  with 
his  daughter  ? 

The  dancing  went  on  with  unabated  zeal,  and  through 
the  open  door  in  the  fainting  azure  of  the  sky  the  summer 
moon  hung  above  the  hills  like  a  great  yellow  orange. 
Striving  to  hide  my  uneasiness,  I  made  my  farewells  to 
Madame  Chouteau's  sons  and  daughters  and  their  friends, 
and  with  Colonel  Chouteau  I  left  the  hall  and  began  to 
walk  towards  Monsieur  Gratiot's,  hoping  against  hope  that 
Nick  had  gone  there  to  change.  But  we  had  scarce  reached 
the  road  before  we  could  see  two  figures  in  the  distance, 
hazily  outlined  in  the  mid-light  of  the  departed  sun  and 
the  coming  moon.  The  first  was  Monsieur  Gratiot  him 
self,  the  second  Benjy.  Monsieur  Gratiot  took  me  by  the 
hand. 

"  I  regret  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  he,  politely, 


350  THE   CEOSSING 

"  that  my  keel  boats  are  loaded  and  ready  to  leave.  Were 
you  on  any  other  errand  I  should  implore  you  to  stay  with 
us." 

"  Is  Temple  at  your  house  ?  "  I  asked  faintly. 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot ;  "  I  thought  he  was 
with  you  at  the  ball." 

"  Where  is  your  master  ?  "  I  demanded  sternly  of  Benjy. 

"  I  ain't  seed  him,  Marse  Dave,  sence  I  put  him  inter 
dem  fine  clothes  'at  he  w'ars  a-cou'tin'." 

"He  has  gone  off  with  the  girl,"  put  in  Colonel  Chou- 
teau,  laughing. 

"  But  where  ?  "  I  said,  with  growing  anger  at  this  lack 
of  consideration  on  Nick's  part. 

"I'll  warrant  that  Gaspard  or  Hippolyte  Beaujais  will 
know,  if  they  can  be  found,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Neither 
of  them  willingly  lets  the  girl  out  of  his  sight." 

As  we  hurried  back  towards  the  throbbing  sounds  of 
Zeron's  fiddle  I  apologized  as  best  I  might  to  Monsieur 
Gratiot,  declaring  that  if  Nick  were  not  found  within  the 
half -hour  I  would  leave  without  him.  My  host  protested 
that  an  hour  or  so  would  make  no  difference.  We  were 
about  to  pass  through  the  group  of  loungers  that  loi 
tered  by  the  gate  when  the  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  ar 
rested  us,  and  we  turned  to  confront  two  panting  and 
perspiring  young  men  who  halted  beside  us.  One  was 
Hippolyte  Beaujais,  more  fantastic  than  ever  as  he  faced 
the  moon,  and  the  other  was  Gaspard.  They  had  plainly 
made  a  common  cause,  but  it  was  Hippolyte  who  spoke. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  cried,  "  you  seek  your  friend  ?  Ha,  we 
have  found  him,  —  we  will  lead  you  to  him." 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  said  Colonel  Chouteau,  repressing 
another  laugh. 

"On  the  pond,  Monsieur,  —  in  a  boat,  Monsieur,  with 
Suzanne,  Monsieur  le  Colonel !  And,  moreover,  he  will 
come  ashore  for  no  one." 

" Parbleu,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  should  think  not  for 
any  arguments  that  you  two  could  muster.  But  we  will 
go  there." 

"  How  far  is  it?"  I  asked,  thinking  of  Monsieur  Gratiot. 


"CHEKCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  351 

"About  a  mile,"  said  Colonel  Chouteau,  "a  pleasant 
walk." 

We  stepped  out,  Hippolyte  and  Gaspard  running  in 
front,  the  Colonel  and  Monsieur  Gratiot  and  myself  follow 
ing  ;  and  a  snicker  which  burst  out  now  and  then  told  us 
that  Benjy  was  in  the  rear.  On  any  other  errand  I  should 
have  thought  the  way  beautiful,  for  the  country  road,  rutted 
by  wooden  wheels,  wound  in  and  out  through  pleasant 
vales  and  over  gentle  rises,  whence  we  caught  glimpses 
from  time  to  time  of  the  Mississippi  gleaming  like  molten 
gold  to  the  eastward.  Here  and  there,  nestling  against 
the  gentle  slopes  of  the  hillside  clearing,  was  a  low-thatched 
farmhouse  among  its  orchards.  As  we  walked,  Nick's 
escapade,  instead  of  angering  Monsieur  Gratiot,  seemed 
to  present  itself  to  him  in  a  more  and  more  ridiculous 
aspect,  and  twice  he  nudged  me  to  call  my  attention  to  the 
two  vengefully  triumphant  figures  silhouetted  against  the 
moon  ahead  of  us.  From  time  to  time  also  I  saw  Colonel 
Chouteau  shaking  with  laughter.  As  for  me,  it  was  im 
possible  to  be  angry  at  Nick  for  any  space.  Nobody  else 
would  have  carried  off  a  girl  in  the  face  of  her  rivals  for 
a  moonlight  row  on  a  pond  a  mile  away. 

At  length  we  began  to  go  down  into  the  valley  where 
Chouteau's  pond  was,  and  we  caught  glimpses  of  the 
shimmering  of  its  waters  through  the  trees,  ay,  and  pres 
ently  heard  them  tumbling  lightly  over  the  mill-dam. 
The  spot  was  made  for  romance,  —  a  sequestered  vale,  clad 
with  forest  trees,  cleared  a  little  by  the  water-side,  where 
Monsieur  Lenoir  raised  his  maize  and  his  vegetables.  Below 
the  mill,  so  Monsieur  Gratiot  told  me,  where  the  creek  lay 
in  pools  on  its  limestone  bed,  the  village  washing  was 
done;  and  every  Monday  morning  bare-legged  negresses 
strode  up  this  road,  the  bundles  of  clothes  balanced  on 
their  heads,  the  paddles  in  their  hands,  followed  by  a  stream 
of  black  urchins  who  tempted  Providence  to  drown  them. 

Down  in  the  valley  we  came  to  a  path  that  branched 
from  the  road  and  led  under  the  oaks  and  hickories  towards 
the  pond,  and  we  had  not  taken  twenty  paces  in  it  before 
the  notes  of  a  guitar  and  the  sound  of  a  voice  reached  our 


352  THE  CKOSSING 

ears.  And  then,  when  the  six  of  us  stood  huddled  in  the 
rank  growth  at  the  water's  edge,  we  saw  a  boat  floating 
idly  in  the  forest  shadow  on  the  far  side. 

I  put  my  hand  to  my  mouth. 

"  Nick ! '"  I  shouted. 

There  came  for  an  answer,  with  the  careless  and  unskil 
ful  thrumming  of  the  guitar,  the  end  of  the  verse :  — 

"  Thine  eyes  are  bright  as  the  stars  at  night, 
Thy  cheeks  like  the  rose  of  the  dawning,  oh  !  " 

u£$lai!n  exclaimed  Hippolyte,  sadly,  "there  is  no 
other  boat." 

"  Nick !  "  I  shouted  again,  reenforced  vociferously  by 
the  others. 

The  music  ceased,  there  came  feminine  laughter  across 
the  water,  then  Nick's  voice,  in  French  that  dared  every 
thing  :  — 

"Go  away  and  amuse  yourselves  at  the  dance.  Peste, 
it  is  scarce  an  hour  ago  I  threatened  to  row  ashore  and 
break  your  heads.  Allez  vous  en,jaloux!" 

A  scream  of  delight  from  Suzanne  followed  this  sally, 
which  was  received  by  Gaspard  and  Hippolyte  with  a  rat 
tle  of  sacrSs,  and  —  despite  our  irritation  —  the  Colonel, 
Monsieur  Gratiot,  and  myself  with  a  burst  of  involuntary 
laughter. 

"Parlleu"  said  the  Colonel,  choking,  "it  is  a  pity  to 
disturb  such  a  one.  Gratiot,  if  it  was  my  boat,  I'd  delay 
the  departure  till  morning." 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  have  had  no  small  entertainment  as  a 
solace,"  said  Monsieur  Gratiot.  "  Listen  !  " 

The  tinkle  of  the  guitar  was  heard  again,  and  Nick's 
voice,  strong  and  full  and  undisturbed :  — 

"S'posin'  I  was  to  go  to  N"'  O'leans  an'  take  sick  an'  die, 
Like  a  bird  into  the  country  my  spirit  would  fly. 
Go  'way,  old  man,  and  leave  me  alone, 
For  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  long  way  from  home." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  voices  in  the  boat,  the  sound  of 
a  paddle  gurgling  as  it  dipped,  and  the  dugout  shot  out 
towards  the  middle  of  the  pond  and  drifted  again. 


"CHERCHEZ   LA  FEMME"  353 

I  shouted  once  more  at  the  top  of  my  lungs :  — 

"  Come  in  here,  Nick,  instantly  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  By  gad,  it's  Parson  Davy !  "  I  heard  Nick  exclaim. 
"  Halloo,  Davy,  how  the  deuce  did  you  get  there?  " 

"No  thanks  to  you,"  I  retorted  hotly.     " Come  in." 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  "  is  it  time  to  go  to  New  Orleans  ?  " 

"  One  might  think  New  Orleans  was  across  the  street," 
said  Monsieur  Gratiot.  "  What  an  attitude  of  mind !  " 

The  dugout  was  coming  towards  us  now,  propelled  by 
easy  strokes,  and  Nick  could  be  heard  the  while  talking 
in  low  tones  to  Suzanne.  We  could  only  guess  at  the 
tenor  of  his  conversation,  which  ceased  entirely  as  they 
drew  near.  At  length  the  prow  slid  in  among  the  rushes, 
was  seized  vigorously  by  Gaspard  and  Hippolyte,  and  the 
boat  hauled  ashore. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Messieurs;  you  are  most  oblig 
ing,"  said  Nick.  And  taking  Suzanne  by  the  hand,  he 
helped  her  gallantly  over  the  gunwale.  "  Monsieur,"  he 
added,  turning  in  his  most  irresistible  manner  to  Monsieur 
Gratiot,  "  if  I  have  delayed  the  departure  of  your  boat,  I 
am  exceedingly  sorry.  But  I  appeal  to  you  if  I  have  not 
the  best  of  excuses." 

And  he  bowed  to  Suzanne,  who  stood  beside  him  coyly, 
looking  down.  As  for  'Polyte  and  Gaspard,  they  were 
quite  breathless  between  rage  and  astonishment.  But 
Colonel  Chouteau  began  to  laugh. 

"  Diable,  Monsieur,  you  are  right,"  he  cried,  "  and 
rather  than  have  missed  this  entertainment  I  would  pay 
Gratiot  for  his  cargo." 

"Au  revoir,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Nick,  "I  will  return 
when  I  am  released  from  bondage.  When  this  terrible 
mentor  relaxes  vigilance,  I  will  escape  and  make  my  way 
back  to  you  through  the  forests." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  to  me,  "  you  will  let  him 
come  back,  Monsieur." 

"  Assuredly,  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "  but  I  have  known 
him  longer  than  you,  and  I  tell  you  that  in  a  month  he 
will  not  wish  to  come  back." 

2A 


354  THE  CROSSING 

Hippolyte  gave  a  grunt  of  approval  to  this  plain  speech. 
Suzanne  exclaimed,  but  before  Nick  could  answer  foot 
steps  were  heard  in  the  path  and  Lenoir  himself,  perspir 
ing,  panting,  exhausted,  appeared  in  the  midst  of  us. 

"  Suzanne  !  "  he  cried,  "  Suzanne  !  "  And  turning  to 
Nick,  he  added  quite  simply,  "  So,  Monsieur,  you  did  not 
run  off  with  her,  after  all  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  place  to  run,  Monsieur,"  answered  Nick. 

"  Praise  be  to  God  for  that !  "  said  the  miller,  heartily ; 
"there  is  some  advantage  in  living  in  the  wilderness, 
when  everything  is  said." 

"  I  shall  come  back  and  try,  Monsieur,"  said  Nick. 

The  miller  raised  his  hands. 

"  I  assure  you  that  he  will  not,  Monsieur,"  I  put  in. 

He  thanked  me  profusely,  and  suddenly  an  idea  seemed 
to  strike  him. 

"  There  is  the  priest,"  he  cried ;  "  Monsieur  le  cur£  retires 
late.  There  is  the  priest,  Monsieur." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence,  broken  at  length  by  an 
exclamation  from  Gaspard.  Colonel  Chouteau  turned  his 
back,  and  I  saw  his  shoulders  heave.  All  eyes  were  on 
Nick,  but  the  rascal  did  not  seem  at  all  perturbed. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  bowing,  "  marriage  is  a  serious 
thing,  and  not  to  be  entered  into  lightly.  I  thank  you 
from  my  heart,  but  I  am  bound  now  with  Mr.  Ritchie  on 
an  errand  of  such  importance  that  I  must  make  a  sacrifice 
of  my  own  interests  and  affairs  to  his." 

"If  Mr.  Temple  wishes  — "  I  began,  with  malicious 
delight.  But  Nick  took  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"  My  dear  Davy,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  vicious  kick,  "  I 
could  not  think  of  it.  I  will  go  with  you  at  once.  Adieu, 
Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  bending  over  Suzanne's  unresist 
ing  hand.  "  Adieu,  Messieurs,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
great  interest  in  me."  (This  to  Gaspard  and  Hippolyte.) 
"  And  now,  Monsieur  Gratiot,  I  have  already  presumed 
too  much  on  your  patience.  I  will  follow  you,  Monsieur." 

We  left  them,  Lenoir,  Suzanne,  and  her  two  suitors, 
standing  at  the  pond,  and  made  our  way  through  the  path 
in  the  forest.  It  was  not  until  we  reached  the  road  and 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  355 

had  begun  to  climb  out  of  the  valley  that  the  silence  was 
broken  between  us. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Colonel  Chouteau,  slyly,  "  do  you 
have  many  such  escapes?" 

"It  might  have  been  closer,"  said  Nick. 

"Closer?"  ejaculated  the  Colonel. 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Nick,  "  to  the  extent  of  abducting 
Monsi/">ir  le  cure.  As  for  you,  Davy,"  he  added,  between 
his  teeth,  "  I  mean  to  get  even  with  you." 

It  was  well  for  us  that  the  Colonel  and  Monsieur 
Gratiot  took  the  escapade  with  such  good  nature.  And 
so  we  walked  along  through  the  summer  night,  talking 
gayly,  until  at  length  the  lights  oj:  the  village  twinkled 
ahead  of  us,  and  in  the  streets  we  met  many  parties  mak 
ing  merry  on  their  homeward  way.  We  came  to  Monsieur 
Gratiot's,  bade  our  farewells  to  Madame,  picked  up  our 
saddle-bags,  the  two  gentlemen  escorting  us  down  to  the 
river  bank  where  the  keel  boat  was  tugging  at  the  ropes  that 
held  her,  impatient  to  be  off.  Her  captain,  a  picturesque 
Canadian  by  the  name  of  Xavier  Paret,  was  presented  to 
us  ;  we  bade  our  friends  farewell,  and  stepped  across  the 
plank  to  the  deck.  As  we  were  casting  off,  Monsieur 
Gratiot  called  to  us  that  he  would  take  the  first  occasion 
to  send  our  horses  back  to  Kentucky.  The  oars  were 
manned,  the  heavy  hulk  moved,  and  we  were  shot  out 
into  the  mighty  current  of  the  river  on  our  way  to  New 
Orleans. 

Nick  and  I  stood  for  a  long  time  on  the  deck,  and  the 
windows  of  the  little  village  gleamed  like  stars  among  the 
trees.  We  passed  the  last  of  its  houses  that  nestled 
against  the  hill,  and  below  that  the  forest  lay  like  velvet 
under  the  moon.  The  song  of  our  boa.tinen  broke  the 
silence  of  the  night :  — 

"  Void  le  temps  et  la  saison, 
Void  le  temps  et  la  saison, 
Ah!  vrai,  que  les  journe'es  sont  longues, 
Ah  !  vrai,  que  les  journe'es  sont  longues  1 " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    KEEL    BOAT 

WE  were  embarked  on  a  strange  river,  in  a  strange  boat, 
and  bound  for  a  strange  city.  To  us  Westerners  a  halo 
of  romance,  of  unreality,  hung  over  New  Orleans.  To  us 
it  had  an  Old  World,  almost  Oriental  flavor  of  mystery  and 
luxury  and  pleasure,  and  we  imagined  it  swathed  in  the 
moisture  of  the  Delta,  built  of  quaint  houses,  with  courts 
of  shining  orange  trees  and  magnolias,  and  surrounded  by 
flowering  plantations  of  unimagined  beauty.  It  was  most 
fitting  that  such  a  place  should  be  the  seat  of  dark  intrigues 
against  material  progress,  and  this  notion  lent  added  zest 
to  my  errand  thither.  As  for  Nick,  it  took  no  great  sagac 
ity  on  my  part  to  predict  that  he  would  forget  Suzanne 
and  begin  to  look  forward  to  the  Creole  beauties  of  the 
Mysterious  City. 

First,  there  was  the  fur-laden  keel  boat  in  which  we 
travelled,  gone  forever  now  from  Western  navigation.  It 
had  its  rude  square  sail  to  take  advantage  of  the  river 
winds,  its  mast  strongly  braced  to  hold  the  long  tow-ropes. 
But  tow-ropes  were  for  the  endless  up-river  journey,  when 
a  numerous  crew  strained  day  after  day  along  the  bank, 
chanting  the  voyageurs'  songs.  Now  we  were  light-manned, 
two  half-breeds  and  two  Canadians  to  handle  the  oars  in 
time  of  peril,  and  Captain  Xavier,  who  stood  aft  on  the 
cabin  roof,  leaning  against  the  heavy  beam  of  the  long, 
curved  tiller,  watching  hawklike  for  snag  and  eddy  and 
bar.  Within  the  cabin  was  a  great  fireplace  of  stones, 
where  our  cooking  was  done,  and  bunks  set  round  for  the 
men  in  cold  weather  and  rainy.  But  in  these  fair  nights 
we  chose  to  sleep  on  deck. 

356 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  357 

Far  into  the  night  we  sat,  Nick  and  I,  our  feet  dangling 
over  the  forward  edge  of  the  cabin,  looking  at  the  glory  of 
the  moon  on  the  vast  river,  at  the  endless  forest  crown,  at 
the  haze  which  hung  like  silver  dust  under  the  high  bluffs 
on  the  American  side.  We  slept.  We  awoke  again  as 
the  moon  was  shrinking  abashed  before  the  light  that 
glowed  above  these  cliffs,  and  the  river  was  turned  from 
brown  to  gold  and  then  to  burnished  copper,  the  forest  to  a 
thousand  shades  of  green  from  crest  to  the  banks  where  the 
river  was  licking  the  twisted  roots  to  nakedness.  The 
south  wind  wafted  the  sharp  wood-smoke  from  the  chim 
ney  across  our  faces.  In  the  stern  Xavier  stood  immov 
able  against  the  tiller,  his  short  pipe  clutched  between  his 
teeth,  the  colors  of  his  new  worsted  belt  made  gorgeous 
by  the  rising  sun. 

"  I?  jour,  Michie,"  he  said,  and  added  in  the  English  he 
had  picked  up  from  the  British  traders,  "the  breakfas' 
he  is  ready,  and  Jean  make  him  good.  Will  you  have 
the  grace  to  descen'  ?  " 

We  went  down  the  ladder  into  the  cabin,  where  the  odor 
of  the  furs  mingled  with  the  smell  of  the  cooking.  There 
was  a  fricassee  steaming  on  the  crane,  some  of  Zeron's  bread, 
brought  from  St.  Louis,  and  coffee  that  Monsieur  Gratiot 
had  provided  for  our  use.  We  took  our  bowls  and  cups 
on  deck  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  cabin. 

"By  gad,"  cried  Nick,  "it  lacks  but  the  one  element 
to  make  it  a  paradise." 

"  And  what  is  that?  "  I  demanded. 

"  A  woman,"  said  he. 

Xavier,  who  overheard,  gave  a  delighted  laugh. 

"  Parbleu,  Michie,  you  have  right,"  he  said,  "  but  Michie 
Gratiot,  he  say  no.  In  Nouvelle  Orleans  we  find  some." 

Nick  got  to  his  feet,  and  if  anything  he  did  could  have 
surprised  me,  I  should  have  been  surprised  when  he  put 
his  arm  coaxingly  about  Xavier's  neck.  Xavier  himself 
was  surprised  and  correspondingly  delighted. 

"  Tell  me,  Xavier,"  he  said,  with  a  look  not  to  be  re 
sisted,  "  do  you  think  I  shall  find  some  beauties  there  ?  " 

"  Beauties  I  "  exclaimed  Xavier,  "  La  Nouvelle  Orleans 


358  THE   CKOSSING 

—  it  is  the  home  of  beauty,  Michie.  They  promenade 
themselves  on  the  levee,  they  look  down  from  ze  gallerie, 
metis  —  " 

"But  what,  Xavier?" 

"  But,  man  Dieu,  Michie,  they  are  vair'  difficile.  They 
are  not  like  Englis'  beauties,  there  is  the  father  and  the 
mother,  and  —  the  convent."  And  Xavier,  who  had  a 
wen  under  his  eye,  laid  his  finger  on  it. 

"  For  shame,  Xavier,"  cried  Nick ;  "  and  you  are  balked 
by  such  things?  " 

Xavier  thought  this  an  exceedingly  good  joke,  and  he 
took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  laugh  the  better. 

"  Me  ?  Mais  non,  Michie".  And  yet  ze  Alcalde,  he  mek 
me  afraid.  Once  he  put  me  in  ze  calaboose  when  I  tried 
to  climb  ze  balcon'." 

Nick  roared. 

"  I  will  show  you  how,  Xavier,"  he  said ;  "  as  to  climb 
ing  the  balconies,  there  is  a  convenai\ce  in  it,  as  in  all  else. 
For  instance,  one  must  be  daring,  and  discreet,  and  nimble, 
and  ready  to  give  the  law  a  presentable  answer,  and  lacking 
that,  a  piastre.  And  then  the  fair  one  must  be  a  fair  one 
indeed." 

"  Diable,  Michie,"  cried  Xavier,  "you  are  ze  mischief." 

"  Nay,"  said  Nick,  "  I  learned  it  all  and  much  more 
from  my  cousin,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

Xavier  stared  at  me  for  an  instant,  and  considering  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  my  character,  I  thought  it  extremely 
impolite  of  him  to  laugh.  Indeed,  he  tried  to  control  him 
self,  for  some  reason  standing  in  awe  of  my  appearance, 
and  then  he  burst  out  into  such  loud  haw-haws  that  the 
crew  poked  their  heads  above  the  cabin  hatch. 

"  Michie  Reetchie,"  said  Xavier,  and  again  he  burst  into 
laughter  that  choked  further  speech.  He  controlled  him 
self  and  laid  his  finger  on  his  wen. 

"  You  don't  believe  it,"  said  Nick,  offended. 

"Michie  Reetchie  a  gallant!  "  said  Xavier. 

"  An  incurable,"  said  Nick,  "  an  amazingly  clever  rogue 
at  device  when  there  is  a  petticoat  in  it.  Davy,  do  I  do 
you  justice  ?  " 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  359 

Xavier  roared  again. 

"  Quel  maitre  !  "  he  said. 

"  Xavier,"  said  Nick,  gently  taking  the  tiller  out  of  his 
hand,  "  I  will  teach  you  how  to  steer  a  keel  boat." 

" Mon  Dieu"  said  Xavier,  "and  who  is  to  pay  Michie 
Gratiot  for  his  fur?  The  river,  she  is  full  of  things." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Xavier,  but  you  will  teach  me  to  steer." 

"  Vblontiers,  Michie,  as  we  go  now.  But  there  come  a 
time  when  I,  even  I,  who  am  twenty  year  on  her,  do  not 
know  whether  it  is  right  or  left.  Ze  rock  —  he  vair' 
hard.  Ze  snag,  he  grip  you  like  dat,"  and  Xavier  twined 
his  strong  arms  around  Nick  until  he  was  helpless.  "Ze 
bar  —  he  hoi'  you  by  ze  leg.  An'  who  is  to  tell  you  how 
far  he  run  under  ze  yellow  water,  Michie  ?  I,  who  speak 
to  you,  know.  But  I  know  not  how  I  know.  Ze  water, 
sometime  she  tell,  sometime  she  say  not'ing." 

"  A  bas,  Xavier  !  "  said  Nick,  pushing  him  away,  "  I 
will  teach  you  the  river." 

Xavier  laughed,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  cabin. 
Nick  took  easily  to  accomplishments,  and  he  handled  the 
clumsy  tiller  with  a  certainty  and  distinction  that  made 
the  boatmen  swear  in  two  languages  and  a  patois.  A 
great  water-logged  giant  of  the  Northern  forests  loomed 
ahead  of  us.  Xavier  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  Nick  had 
swung  his  boat  swiftly,  smoothly,  into  the  deeper  water 
on  the  outer  side. 

"  Saint  Jacques,  Michie,"  cried  Xavier,  "  you  mek  him 
better  zan  I  thought." 

Fascinated  by  a  new  accomplishment,  Nick  held  to  the 
tiller,  while  Xavier  with  a  trained  eye  scanned  the  troubled, 
yellow-glistening  surface  of  the  river  ahead.  The  wind 
died,  the  sun  beat  down  with  a  moist  and  venomous  sting, 
and  northeastward  above  the  edge  of  the  bluff  a  bank  of 
cloud  like  sulphur  smoke  was  lifted.  Gradually  Xavier 
ceased  his  jesting  and  became  quiet. 

"  Looks  like  a  hurricane,"  said  Nick. 

"  Mon  Dieu"  said  Xavier,  "  you  have  right,  Michie," 
and  he  called  in  his  rapid  patois  to  the  crew,  who  lounged 
forward  in  the  cabin's  shade.  There  came  to  my  mind 


360  THE  CROSSING 

the  memory  of  that  hurricane  at  Temple  Bow  long  ago,  a 
storm  that  seemed  to  have  brought  so  much  sorrow  into 
my  life.  I  glanced  at  Nick,  but  his  face  was  serene. 

The  cloud-bank  came  on  in  black  and  yellow  masses, 
and  the  saffron  light  I  recalled  so  well  turned  the  living 
green  of  the  forest  to  a  sickly  pallor  and  the  yellow  river 
to  a  tinge  scarce  to  be  matched  on  earth.  Xavier  had  the 
tiller  now,  and  the  men  were  straining  at  the  oars  to  send 
the  boat  across  the  current  towards  the  nearer  western 
shore.  And  as  my  glance  took  in  the  scale  of  things,  the 
miles  of  bluff  frowning  above  the  bottom,  the  river  that 
seemed  now  like  a  lake  of  lava  gently  boiling,  and  the 
wilderness  of  the  western  shore  that  reached  beyond  the 
ken  of  man,  I  could  not  but  shudder  to  think  of  the  con 
flict  of  nature's  forces  in  such  a  place.  A  grim  stillness 
reigned  over  all,  broken  only  now  and  again  by  a  sharp 
command  from  Xavier.  The  men  were  rowing  for  their 
lives,  the  sweat  glistening  on  their  red  faces. 

"  She  come,"  said  Xavier. 

I  looked,  not  to  the  northeast  whence  the  banks  of 
cloud  had  risen,  but  to  the  southwest,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  a  little  speck  was  there  against  the  hurrying  film 
of  cloud.  We  were  drawing  near  the  forest  line,  where  a 
little  creek  made  an  indentation.  I  listened,  and  from 
afar  came  a  sound  like  the  strumming  of  low  notes  on  a 
guitar,  and  sad.  The  terrified  scream  of  a  panther  broke 
the  silence  of  the  forest,  and  then  the  other  distant  note 
grew  stronger,  and  stronger  yet,  and  rose  to  a  high  hum  like 
unto  no  sound  on  this  earth,  and  mingled  with  it  now  was  a 
lashing  like  water  falling  from  a  great  height.  We 
grounded,  and  Xavier,  seizing  a  great  tow-rope,  leaped  into 
the  shallow  water  and  passed  the  bight  around  a  trunk. 
I  cried  out  to  Nick,  bat  my  voice  was  drowned.  He  seized 
me  and  flung  me  under  the  cabin's  lee,  and  then  above 
the  fearful  note  of  the  storm  came  cracklings  like  gun 
shots  of  great  trees  snapping  at  their  trunk.  We  saw 
the  forest  wall  burst  out  —  how  far  away  I  know  not — 
and  the  air  was  filled  as  with  a  flock  of  giant  birds,  and 
boughs  crashed  on  the  roof  of  the  cabin  and  tore  the 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  361 

water  in  the  darkness.  How  long  we  lay  clutching  each 
other  in  terror  on  the  rocking  boat  I  may  not  say,  but 
when  the  veil  first  lifted  there  was  the  river  like  an  angry 
sea,  and  limitless,  the  wind  in  its  fury  whipping  the  foam 
from  the  crests  and  bearing  it  off  into  space.  And  pres 
ently,  as  we  stared,  the  note  lowered  and  the  wind  was 
gone  again,  and  there  was  the  water  tossing  foolishly,  and 
we  lay  safe  amidst  the  green  wreckage  of  the  forest  as  by  a 
miracle. 

It  was  Nick  who  moved  first.  With  white  face  he 
climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  cabin  and  idly  seizing  the  great 
limb  that  lay  there  tried  to  move  it.  Xavier,  who  lay  on 
his  face  on  the  bank,  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  crossed 
himself.  Beyond  me  crowded  the  four  members  of  the 
crew,  unhurt.  Then  we  heard  Xavier's  voice,  in  French, 
thanking  the  Blessed  Virgin  for  our  escape. 

Further  speech  was  gone  from  us,  for  men  do  not  talk 
after  such  a  matter.  We  laid  hold  of  the  tree  across  the 
cabin  and,  straining,  flung  it  over  into  the  water.  A  great 
drop  of  rain  hit  me  on  the  forehead,  and  there  came  a 
silver-gray  downpour  that  blotted  out  the  scene  and  drove 
us  down  below.  And  then,  from  somewhere  in  the  depths 
of  the  dark  cabin,  came  a  sound  to  make  a  man's  blood  run 
cold. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  I  said,  clutching  Nick. 

"Benjy,"  said  he;  "thank  God  he  did  not  die  of  fright." 
We  lighted  a  candle,  and  poking  around,  found  the  negro 
where  he  had  crept  into  the  farthest  corner  of  a  bunk 
with  his  face  to  the  wall.  And  when  we  touched  him  he 
gave  vent  to  a  yell  that  was  blood-curdling. 

"I'se  a  bad  nigger,  Lo'd,  yes,  I  is,"  he  moaned.  "I 
ain't  fit  fo'  jedgment,  Lo'd." 

Nick  shook  him  and  laughed. 

"  Come  out  of  that,  Benjy,"  he  said;  "  you've  got  another 
chance." 

Benjy  turned,  perforce,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  gleaming 
in  the  candle-light,  and  stared  at  us. 

"  You  ain't  gone  yit,  Marse,"  he  said. 

"  Gone  where  ?  "  said  Nick. 


362  THE   CROSSING 

"  I'se  done  been  tole  de  quality  '11  be  jedged  fust,  Marse," 
said  Benjy. 

Nick  hauled  him  out  on  the  floor.  Climbing  to  the 
deck,  we  found  that  the  boat  was  already  under  way, 
running  southward  in  the  current  through  the  misty  rain. 
And  gazing  shoreward,  a  sight  met  my  eyes  which  I 
shall  never  forget.  A  wide  vista,  carpeted  with  wreck 
age,  was  cut  through  the  forest  to  the  river's  edge,  and 
the  yellow  water  was  strewn  for  miles  with  green  boughs. 
We  stared  down  it,  overwhelmed,  until  we  had  passed 
beyond  its  line. 

"  It  is  as  straight,"  said  Nick,  "  as  straight  as  one  of  her 
Majesty's  alleys  I  saw  cut  through  the  forest  at  Saint- 
Cloud." 

******* 

Had  I  space  and  time  to  give  a  faithful  account  of  this 
journey  it  would  be  chiefly  a  tribute  to  Xavier's  skill,  for 
they  who  have  not  put  themselves  at  the  mercy  of  the 
Mississippi  in  a  small  craft  can  have  no  idea  of  the  dan 
gers  of  such  a  voyage.  Infinite  experience,  a  keen  eye,  a 
steady  hand,  and  a  nerve  of  iron  are  required.  Now,  when 
the  current  swirled  almost  to  a  rapid,  we  grazed  a  rock 
by  the  width  of  a  ripple  ;  and  again,  despite  the  effort  of 
Xavier  and  the  crew,  we  would  tear  the  limbs  from  a  huge 
tree,  which,  had  we  hit  it  fair,  would  have  ripped  us  from 
bow  to  stern.  Once,  indeed,  we  were  fast  on  a  sand-bar, 
whence  (as  Nick  said)  Xavier  fairly  cursed  us  off.  We 
took  care  to  moor  at  night,  where  we  could  be  seen  as  little 
as  possible  from  the  river,  and  divided  the  watches  lest  we 
should  be  surprised  by  Indians.  And,  as  we  went  south 
ward,  our  hands  and  faces  became  blotched  all  over  by 
the  bites  of  mosquitoes  and  flies,  and  we  smothered  our 
selves  under  blankets  to  get  rid  of  them.  At  times  we 
fished,  and  one  evening,  after  we  had  passed  the  expanse 
of  water  at  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio,  Nick  pulled  a  hideous 
thing  from  the  inscrutable  yellow  depths, — a  slimy,  scale- 
less  catfish.  He  came  up  like  a  log,  and  must  have  weighed 
seventy  pounds.  Xavier  and  his  men  and  myself  made  two 
good  meals  of  him,  but  Nick  would  not  touch  the  meat. 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  363 

The  great  river  teemed  with  life.  There  were  flocks 
of  herons  and  cranes  and  water  pelicans,  and  I  know  not 
what  other  birds,  and  as  we  slipped  under  the  banks  we 
often  heard  the  paroquets  chattering  in  the  forests.  And 
once,  as  we  drifted  into  an  inlet  at  sunset,  we  caught  sight 
of  the  shaggy  head  of  a  bear  above  the  brown  water,  and 
leaping  down  into  the  cabin  I  primed  the  rifle  that  stood 
there  and  shot  him.  It  took  the  seven  of  us  to  drag  him 
on  board,  and  then  I  cleaned  and  skinned  him  as  Tom  had 
taught  me,  and  showed  Jean  how  to  put  the  caul  fat 
and  liver  in  rows  on  a  skewer  and  wrap  it  in  the  bear's 
handkerchief  and  roast  it  before  the  lire.  Nick  found 
no  difficulty  in  eating  this  —  it  was  a  dish  fit  for  any 
gourmand. 

We  passed  the  great,  red  Chickasaw  Bluff,  which  sits  fac 
ing  westward  looking  over  the  limitless  Louisiana  forests, 
where  new  and  wondrous  vines  and  flowers  grew,  and  came 
to  the  beautiful  Walnut  Hills  crowned  by  a  Spanish  fort. 
We  did  not  stop  there  to  exchange  courtesies,  but  pressed 
on  to  the  Grand  Gulf,  the  grave  of  many  a  keel  boat  before 
and  since.  This  was  by  far  the  most  dangerous  place  on 
the  Mississippi,  and  Xavier  was  never  weary  of  recounting 
many  perilous  escapes  there,  or  telling  how  such  and  such 
a  priceless  cargo  had  sunk  in  the  mud  by  reason  of  the 
lack  of  skill  of  particular  boatmen  he  knew  of.  And  in 
deed,  the  Canadian's  face  assumed  a  graver  mien  after  the 
Walnut  Hills  were  behind  us. 

"  You  laugh,  Michie,"  he  said  to  Nick,  a  little  resent 
fully.  "  I  who  speak  to  you  say  that  there  is  four  foot  on 
each  side  of  ze  bateau.  Too  much  tafia,  a  little  too  much 
excite  —  "  and  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  expressive 
of  total  destruction ;  "  ze  tornado,  I  would  sooner  have 
him  —  " 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Nick,  stroking  Xavier's  black  beard,  "  give 
me  the  tiller.  I  will  see  you  through  safely,  and  we  will 
not  spare  the  tafia  either."  And  he  began  to  sing  a  song 
of  Xavier's  own  :  — 

"  '  Marianson,  dame  jolie, 
Ou  est  alle  votre  mari t'" 


364  THE  CROSSING 

"  Ah,  toujours  les  dames ! "  said  Xavier.  "  But  I  tell 
you,  Michie,  le  diable,  —  he  is  at  ze  bottom  of  ze  Grand 
Gulf  and  his  mouth  open  —  so."  And  he  suited  the  action 
to  the  word. 

At  night  we  tied  up  under  the  shore  within  earshot  of 
the  mutter  of  the  place,  and  twice  that  night  I  awoke  with 
clinched  hands  from  a  dream  of  being  spun  fiercely  against 
the  rock  of  which  Xavier  had  told,  and  sucked  into  the 
devil's  mouth  under  the  water.  Dawn  came  as  I  was 
fighting  the  mosquitoes, — a  still,  sultry  dawn  with  thun 
der  muttering  in  the  distance. 

We  breakfasted  in  silence,  and  with  the  crew  standing 
ready  at  the  oars  and  Xavier  scanning  the  wide  expanse 
of  waters  ahead,  seeking  for  that  unmarked  point  whence 
to  embark  on  this  perilous  journey,  we  floated  down  the 
stream.  The  prospect  was  sufficiently  disquieting  on  that 
murky  day.  Below  us,  on  the  one  hand,  a  rocky  bluff 
reached  out  into  the  river,  and  on  the  far  side  was  a  timber- 
clad  point  round  which  the  Mississippi  doubled  and  flowed 
back  on  itself.  It  needed  no  trained  eye  to  guess  at  the 
perils  of  the  place.  On  the  one  side  the  mighty  current 
charged  against  the  bluff  and,  furious  at  the  obstacle,  lashed 
itself  into  a  hundred  sucks  and  whirls,  their  course  marked 
by  the  flotsam  plundered  from  the  forests  above.  Woe 
betide  the  boat  that  got  into  this  devil's  caldron !  And 
on  the  other  side,  near  the  timbered  point,  ran  a  counter 
current  marked  by  forest  wreckage  flowing  up-stream. 
To  venture  too  far  on  this  side  was  to  be  grounded  or  at 
least  to  be  sent  back  to  embark  once  more  on  the  trial. 

But  where  was  the  channel?  We  Avatched  Xavier  with 
bated  breath.  Not  once  did  he  take  his  eyes  from  the 
swirling  water  ahead,  but  gave  the  tiller  a  touch  from  time 
to  time,  now  right,  now  left,  and  called  in  a  monotone  for 
the  port  or  starboard  oars.  Nearer  and  nearer  we  sped, 
dodging  the  snags,  until  the  water  boiled  around  us,  and 
suddenly  the  boat  shot  forward  as  in  a  mill-race,  and  we 
clutched  the  cabin's  roof.  A  triumphant  gleam  was  in 
Xavier's  eyes,  for  he  had  hit  the  channel  squarely.  And 
then,  like  a  monster  out  of  the  deep,  the  scaly,  black 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  365 

back  of  a  great  northern  pine  was  flung  up  beside  us  and 
sheered  us  across  the  channel  until  we  were  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  foam-specked,  spinning  water.  But  Xavier 
saw  it,  and  quick  as  lightning  brought  his  helm  over  and 
laughed  as  he  heard  it  crunching  along  our  keel.  And  so 
we  came  swiftly  around  the  bend  and  into  safety  once 
more.  The  next  day  there  was  the  Petite  Gulf,  which 
bothered  Xavier  very  little,  and  the  day  after  that  we 
came  in  sight  of  Natchez  on  her  heights  and  guided  our 
boat  in  amongst  the  others  that  lined  the  shore,  scowled 
at  by  lounging  Indians  there,  and  eyed  suspiciously  by  a 
hatchet-faced  Spaniard  in  a  tawdry  uniform  who  repre 
sented  his  Majesty's  customs.  Here  we  stopped  for  a  day 
and  a  night  that  Xavier  and  his  crew  might  get  properly 
drunk  on  tafia,  while  Nick  and  I  walked  about  the  town 
and  waited  until  his  Excellency,  the  commandant,  had 
finished  dinner  that  we  might  present  our  letters  and 
obtain  his  passport.  Natchez  at  that  date  was  a  sufficiently 
unkempt  and  evil  place  of  dirty,  ramshackle  houses  and 
gambling  dens,  where  men  of  the  four  nations  gamed  and 
quarrelled  and  fought.  We  were  glad  enough  to  get 
away  the  following  morning,  Xavier  somewhat  saddened 
by  the  loss  of  thirty  livres  of  which  he  had  no  memory,  and 
Nick  and  myself  relieved  at  having  the  passports  in  our 
pockets.  I  have  mine  yet  among  my  papers. 

"  Natchez,  29  de  Junto,  de  1789. 

"  Concedo  libre  y  seguro  pasaporte  a  Don  David  Ritchie 
para  que  pase  a  la  Nueva  Orleans  por  Agna.  Pido  y  en- 
cargo  no  se  le  ponga  embarazo." 

A  few  days  more  and  we  were  running  between  low 
shores  which  seemed  to  hold  a  dark  enchantment.  The 
rivers  now  flowed  out  of,  and  not  into  the  Mississippi,  and 
Xavier  called  them  bayous,  and  often  it  took  much  skill 
and  foresight  on  his  part  not  to  be  shot  into  the  lane  they 
made  in  the  dark  forest  of  an  evening.  And  the  forest, 
—  it  seemed  an  impenetrable  mystery,  a  strange  tangle  of 
fantastic  growths  :  the  live-oak  (cMne  vert),  its  wide- 
spreading  limbs  hung  funereally  with  Spanish  moss  and 


366  THE   CROSSING 

twined  in  the  mistletoe's  death  embrace;  the  dark  cypress 
swamp  with  the  conelike  knees  above  the  yellow  back 
waters  ;  and  here  and  there  grew  the  bridelike  magnolia 
which  we  had  known  in  Kentucky,  wafting  its  perfume 
over  the  waters,  and  wondrous  flowers  and  vines  and  trees 
with  French  names  that  bring  back  the  scene  to  me  even 
now  with  a  whiff  of  romance,  bois  (Fare,  lilac,  grande 
volatile  (water-lily).  Birds  flew  hither  and  thither  (the 
names  of  every  one  of  which  Xavier  knew), — the  whis 
tling  papabot,  the  mournful  bittern  (c/arde-soleil),  and  the 
night-heron  (grosbeclc),  who  stood  like  a  sentinel  on  the 
points. 

One  night  I  awoke  with  the  sweat  starting  from 
my  brow,  trying  to  collect  my  senses,  and  I  lay  on  my 
blanket  listening  to  such  plaintive  and  heart-rending 
cries  as  I  had  never  known.  Human  cries  they  were, 
cries  as  of  children  in  distress,  and  I  rose  to  a  sitting 
posture  on  the  deck  with  my  hair  standing  up  straight,  to 
discover  Nick  beside  me  in  the  same  position. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  us,"  I  heard  him  mutter,  "  what's 
that  ?  It  sounds  like  the  wail  of  all  the  babies  since  the 
world  began." 

We  listened  together,  and  I  can.  give  no  notion  of  the 
hideous  mournfulness  of  the  sound.  We  lay  in  a  swampy 
little  inlet,  and  the  forest  wall  made  a  dark  blur  against 
the  star-studded  sky.  There  was  a  splash  near  the  boat 
that  made  me  clutch  my  legs,  the  wails  ceased  and  began 
again  with  redoubled  intensity.  Nick  and  I  leaped  to  our 
feet  and  stood  staring,  horrified,  over  the  gunwale  into 
the  black  water.  Presently  there  was  a  laugh  behind  us, 
and  we  saw  Xavier  resting  on  his  elbow. 

"  What  devil-haunted  place  is  this  ?  "  demanded  Nick. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  said  Xavier,  shaking  with  unseemly  mirth, 
"  you  have  never  heard  ze  alligator  sing,  Michie  ?  " 

"  Alligator  !  "  cried  Nick ;  "  there  are  babies  in  the  water, 
I  tell  you." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  Xavier,  flinging  off  his  blanket  and 
searching  for  his  flint  and  tinder.  He  lighted  a  pine  knot, 
and  in  the  red  pulsing  flare  we  saw  what  seemed  to  be  a 


THE  KEEL  BOAT  367 

dozen  black  logs  floating  on  the  surface.  And  then 
Xavier  flung  the  cresset  at  them,  fire  and  all.  There  was 
a  lashing,  a  frightful  howl  from  one  of  the  logs,  and  the 
night's  silence  once  more. 

Often  after  that  our  slumbers  were  disturbed,  and  we 
would  rise  with  maledictions  in  our  mouths  to  fling  the 
handiest  thing  at  the  serenaders.  When  we  arose  in  the 
morning  we  would  often  see  them  by  the  dozens,  basking 
in  the  shallows,  with  their  wide  mouths  flapped  open  wait 
ing  for  their  prey.  Sometimes  we  ran  upon  them  in  the 
water,  where  they  looked  like  the  rough- bark  pine  logs 
from  the  North,  and  Nick  would  have  a  shot  at  them. 
When  he  hit  one  fairly  there  would  be  a  leviathan-like 
roar  and  a  churning  of  the  river  into  suds. 

At  length  there  were  signs  that  we  were  drifting  out  of 
the  wilderness,  and  one  morning  we  came  in  sight  of  a 
rich  plantation  with  its  dark  orange  trees  and  fields  of 
indigo,  with  its  wide-galleried  manor-house  in  a  grove. 
And  as  we  drifted  we  heard  the  negroes  chanting  at  their 
work,  the  plaintive  cadence  of  the  strange  song  adding 
to  the  mystery  of  the  scene.  Here  in  truth  was  a  new 
world,  a  land  of  peaceful  customs,  green  and  moist.  The 
soft-toned  bells  of  it  seemed  an  expression  of  its  life,  —  so 
far  removed  from  our  own  striving  and  fighting  existence 
in  Kentucky.  Here  and  there,  between  plantations,  a 
belfry  could  be  seen  above  the  cluster  of  the  little  white 
village  planted  in  the  green ;  and  when  we  went  ashore 
amongst  these  simple  French  people  they  treated  us  with 
such  gentle  civility  and  kindness  that  we  would  fain  have 
lingered  there.  The  river  had  become  a  vast  yellow 
lake,  and  often  as  we  drifted  of  an  evening  the  wail  of  a 
slave  dance  and  monotonous  beating  of  a  tom-tom  would 
float  to  us  over  the  water. 

At  last,  late  one  afternoon,  we  came  in  sight  of  that 
strange  city  which  had  filled  our  thoughts  for  many  days. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    STRANGE    CITY 

NICK  and  I  stood  by  the  mast  on  the  forward  part  of 
the  cabin,  staring  at  the  distant,  low-lying  city,  while 
Xavier  sought  for  the  entrance  to  the  eddy  which  here 
runs  along  the  shore.  If  you  did  not  gain  this  entrance, 
—  so  he  explained,  —  you  were  carried  by  a  swift  current 
below  New  Orleans  and  might  by  no  means  get  back  save 
by  the  hiring  of  a  crew.  Xavier,  however,  was  not  to  be 
caught  thus,  and  presently  we  were  gliding  quietly  along 
the  eastern  bank,  or  levee,  which  held  back  the  river  from 
the  lowlands.  Then,  as  we  looked,  the  levee  became  an 
esplanade  shaded  by  rows  of  willows,  and  through  them 
we  caught  sight  of  the  upper  galleries  and  low,  curving 
roofs  of  the  city  itself.  There,  cried  Xavier,  was  the 
Governor's  house  on  the  corner,  where  the  great  Miro 
lived,  and  beyond  it  the  house  of  the  Intendant;  and 
then,  gliding  into  an  open  space  between  the  keel  boats 
along  the  bank,  stared  at  by  a  score  of  boatmen  and  idlers 
from  above,  we  came  to  the  end  of  our  long  journey.  No 
sooner  had  we  made  fast  than  we  were  boarded  by  a 
shabby  customs  officer  who,  when  he  had  seen  our  pass 
ports,  bowed  politely  and  invited  us  to  land.  We  leaped 
ashore,  gained  the  gravelled  walk  on  the  levee,  and  looked 
about  us. 

Squalidity  first  met  our  eyes.  Below  us,  crowded 
between  the  levee  and  the  row  of  houses,  were  dozens  of 
squalid  market-stalls  tended  by  cotton-clad  negroes.  Be 
yond,  across  the  bare  Place  d'Armes,  a  blackened  gap  in 
the  line  of  houses  bore  witness  to  the  devastation  of  the 
year  gone  by,  while  here  and  there  a  roof,  struck  by  the 

368 


THE   STRANGE  CITY  369 

setting  sun,  gleamed  fiery  red  with  its  new  tiles.  The 
levee  was  deserted  save  for  the  negroes  and  the  river 
men. 

"Time  for  siesta,  Michie,"  said  Xavier,  joining  us;  "I 
will  show  you  ze  inn  of  which  I  spik.  She  is  kep'  by  my 
fren',  Madame  Bouvet." 

"  Xavier,"  said  Nick,  looking  at  the  rolling  flood  of  the 
river,  "suppose  this  levee  should  break?" 

"Ah,"  said  Xavier,  "then  some  Spaniard  who  never 
have  a  bath  —  he  feel  what  water  is  lak." 

Followed  by  Benjy  with  the  saddle-bags,  we  went  down 
the  steps  set  in  the  levee  into  this  strange,  foreign  city. 
It  was  like  unto  nothing  we  had  ever  seen,  nor  can  I  give 
an  adequate  notion  of  how  it  affected  us,  —  such  a  mixture 
it  seemed  of  dirt  and  poverty  and  wealth  and  romance. 
The  narrow,  muddy  streets  ran  with  filth,  and  on  each 
side  along  the  houses  was  a  sun-baked  walk  held  up  by 
the  curved  sides  of  broken  flatboats,  where  two  men  might 
scarcely  pass.  The  houses,  too,  had  an  odd  and  foreign 
look,  some  of  wood,  some  of  upright  logs  and  plaster,  and 
newer  ones,  Spanish  in  style,  of  adobe,  with  curving 
roofs  of  red  tiles  and  strong  eaves  spreading  over  the 
banquette  (as  the  sidewalk  was  called),  casting  shadows 
on  lemon-colored  walls.  Since  New  Orleans  was  in  a 
swamp,  the  older  houses  for  the  most  part  were  lifted; 
some  seven  feet  above  the  ground,  and  many  of  these 
houses  had  wide  galleries  on  the  street  side.  Here  and 
there  a  shop  was  set  in  the  wall;  a  watchmaker  was  to  be 
seen  poring  over  his  work  at  a  tiny  window,  a  shoemaker 
cross-legged  on  the  floor.  Again,  at  an  open  wicket,  we 
caught  a  glimpse  through  a  cool  archway  into  a  flowering 
court-yard.  Stalwart  negresses  with  bright  kerchiefs 
made  way  for  us  on  the  banquette.  Hands  on  hips,  they 
swung  along  erect,  with  baskets  of  cakes  and  sweetmeats 
on  their  heads,  musically  crying  their  wares. 

At  length,  turning  a  corner,  we  came  to  a  white  wooden 
house  on  the  Rue  Royale,  with  a  flight  of  steps  leading  up 
to  the  entrance.  In  place  of  a  door  a  flimsy  curtain 
hung  in  the  doorway,  and,  pushing  this  aside,  we  followed 

2B 


370  THE  CROSSING 

Xavier  through  a  darkened  hall  to  a  wide  gallery  that 
overlooked  a  court-yard.  This  court-yard  was  shaded  by 
several  great  trees  which  grew  there;  the  house  and 
gallery  ran  down  one  other  side  of  it;  and  the  two  remain 
ing  sides  were  made  up  of  a  series  of  low  cabins,  these 
forming  the  various  outhouses  and  the  kitchen.  At  the 
far  end  of  this  gallery  a  sallow,  buxom  lady  sat  sewing  at 
a  table,  and  Xavier  saluted  her  very  respectfully. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "I  have  brought  you  from  St.  Louis 
with  Michie  Gratiot's  compliments  two  young  American 
gentlemen,  who  are  travelling  to  amuse  themselves." 

The  lady  rose  and  beamed  upon  us. 

"  From  Monsieur  Gratiot,"  she  said ;  "  you  are  very 
welcome,  gentlemen,  to  such  poor  accommodations  as  I 
have.  It  is  not  unusual  to  have  American  gentlemen  in 
New  Orleans,  for  many  come  here  first  and  last.  And  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  two  of  my  best  rooms  are  vacant. 
Zoey  I  " 

There  was  a  shrill  answer  from  the  court  below,  and  a 
negro  girl  in  a  yellow  turban  came  running  up,  while 
Madame  Bouvet  bustled  along  the  gallery  and  opened  the 
doors  of  two  darkened  rooms.  Within  I  could  dimly  see 
a  walnut  dresser,  a  chair,  and  a  walnut  bed  on  which  was 
spread  a  mosquito  bar. 

"  Voild,  Messieurs,"  cried  Madame  Bouvet,  "there  is 
still  a  little  time  for  a  siesta.  No  siesta  !  "  cried  Madame, 
eying  us  aghast ;  "  ah,  the  Americans  they  never  rest  — 
never." 

We  bade  farewell  to  the  good  Xavier,  promising  to  see 
him  soon;  and  Nick,  shouting  to  Benjy  to  open  the  saddle 
bags,  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  the  clothes  which  had 
made  so  much  havoc  at  St.  Louis.  I  boded  no  good  from 
this  proceeding,  but  I  reflected,  as  I  watched  him  dress, 
that  I  might  as  well  try  to  turn  the  Mississippi  from  its 
course  as  to  attempt  to  keep  my  cousin  from  the  search 
for  gallant  adventure.  And  I  reflected  that  his  indul 
gence  in  pleasure-seeking  would  serve  the  more  to  divert 
any  suspicions  which  might  fall  upon  my  own  head.  At 
last,  when  the  setting  sun  was  flooding  the  court-yard,  he 


THE   STEANGE  CITY  371 

stood  arrayed  upon  the  gallery,  ready  to  venture  forth  to 
conquest. 

Madame  Bouvet's  tavern,  or  hotel,  or  whatever  she  was 
pleased  to  call  it,  was  not  immaculately  clean.  Before 
passing  into  the  street  we  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
into  the  public  room  on  the  left  of  the  hallway,  a  long 
saloon,  evidently  used  in  the  early  afternoon  for  a  din 
ing  room,  and  at  the  back  of  it  a  wide,  many-paned 
window,  capped  by  a  Spanish  arch,  looked  out  on  the  gal 
lery.  Near  this  window  was  a  gay  party  of  young  men 
engaged  at  cards,  waited  on  by  the  yellow-turbaned  Zoey, 
and  drinking  what  evidently  was  claret  punch.  The  sounds 
of  their  jests  and  laughter  pursued  us  out  of  the  house. 

The  town  was  waking  from  its  siesta,  the  streets  filling, 
and  people  stopped  to  stare  at  Nick  as  we  passed.  But 
Nick,  who  was  plainly  in  search  of  something  he  did 
not  find,  hurried  on.  We  soon  came  to  the  quarter 
which  had  suffered  most  from  the  fire,  where  new  houses 
had  gone  up  or  were  in  the  building  beside  the  blackened 
logs  of  many  of  Bienville's  time.  Then  we  came  to  a 
high  white  wall  that  surrounded  a  large  garden,  and  within 
it  was  a  long,  massive  building  of  some  beauty  and  pre 
tension,  with  a  high,  latticed  belfry  and  heavy  walls  and 
with  arched  dormers  in  the  sloping  roof.  As  we  stood 
staring  at  it  through  the  iron  grille  set  in  the  archway 
of  the  lodge,  Nick  declared  that  it  put  him  in  mind  of 
some  of  the  chateaux  he  had  seen  in  France,  and  he 
crossed  the  street  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  premises. 
An  old  man  in  coarse  blue  linen  came  out  of  the  lodge 
and  spoke  to  me. 

"  It  is  the  convent  of  the  good  nuns,  the  Ursulines, 
Monsieur,"  he  said  in  French,  "  and  it  was  built  long  ago 
in  the  Sieur  de  Bienville's  time,  when  the  colony  was 
young.  For  forty-five  years,  Monsieur,  the  young  ladies 
of  the  city  have  come  here  to  be  educated." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  demanded  Nick,  pricking  up  his 
ears  as  he  came  across  the  street. 

"  That  young  men  have  been  sent  to  the  mines  of 
Brazil  for  climbing  the  walls.,"  I  answered. 


372  THE   CROSSING 

"  Who  wants  to  climb  the  walls  ?  "  said  Nick,  disgusted. 

"  The  young  ladies  of  the  town  go  to  school  here,"  I 
answered;  "it  is  a  convent." 

"  It  might  serve  to  pass  the  time,"  said  Nick,  gazing 
with  a  new  interest  at  the  latticed  windows.  "  How  much 
would  you  take,  my  friend,  to  let  us  in  at  the  back  way 
this  evening  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the  porter  in  French. 

The  good  man  gasped,  lifted  his  hands  in  horror,  and 
straightway  let  loose  upon  Nick  a  torrent  of  French  in 
vectives  that  had  not  the  least  effect  except  to  cause  a 
blacksmith's  apprentice  and  two  negroes  to  stop  and  stare 
at  us. 

"  Pooh  !  "  exclaimed  Nick,  when  the  man  had  paused 
for  want  of  breath,  "it  is  no  trick  to  get  over  that  wall." 

" Bon  Dieu ! "  cried  the  porter,  "you  are  Kentuckians, 
yes  ?  I  might  have  known  that  you  were  Kentuckians, 
and  I  shall  advise  the  good  sisters  to  put  glass  on  the  wall 
and  keep  a  watch." 

"  The  young  ladies  are  beautiful,  you  say  ?  "  said  Nick. 

At  this  juncture,  with  the  negroes  grinning  and  the 
porter  near  bursting  with  rage,  there  came  out  of  the  lodge 
the  fattest  woman  I  have  ever  seen  for  her  size.  She 
seized  her  husband  by  the  back  of  his  loose  frock  and 
pulled  him  away,  crying  out  that  he  was  losing  time  by 
talking  to  vagabonds,  besides  disturbing  the  good  sisters. 
Then  we  went  away,  Nick  following  the  convent  wall 
down  to  the  river.  Turning  southward  under  the  bank 
past  the  huddle  of  market-stalls,  we  came  suddenly  upon 
a  sight  that  made  us  pause  and  wonder. 

New  Orleans  was  awake.  A  gay  and  laughing  throng 
paced  the  esplanade  on  the  levee  under  the  willows,  with 
here  and  there  a  cavalier  on  horseback  on  the  Royal  Road 
below.  Across  the  Place  d'Armes  the  spire  of  the  parish 
church  stood  against  the  fading  sky,  and  to  the  westward 
the  mighty  river  stretched  away  like  a  gilded  floor.  It 
was  a  strange  throng.  There  were  grave  Spaniards  in 
long  cloaks  and  feathered  beavers;  jolly  merchants  and 
artisans  in  short  linen  jackets,  each  with  his  tabatiere,  the 
wives  with  bits  of  finery,  the  children  laughing  and  shout- 


THE   STRANGE  CITY  373 

ing  and  dodging  in  and  out  between  fathers  and  mothers 
beaming  with  quiet  pride  and  contentment ;  swarthy  boat 
men  with  their  worsted  belts,  gaudy  negresses  chanting 
in  the  soft  patois,  and  here  and  there  a  blanketed  Indian. 
Nor  was  this  all.  Some  occasion  (so  Madame  Bouvet 
had  told  us)  had  brought  a  sprinkling  of  fashion  to 
town  that  day,  and  it  was  a  fashion  to  astonish  me. 
There  were  fine  gentlemen  with  swords  and  silk  waist 
coats  and  silver  shoe-buckles,  and  ladies  in  filmy  summer 
gowns.  Greuze  ruled  the  mode  in  France  then,  but  New 
Orleans  had  not  got  beyond  Watteau.  As  for  Nick  and 
me,  we  knew  nothing  of  Greuze  and  Watteau  then,  and  we 
could  only  stare  in  astonishment.  And  for  once  we  saw 
an  officer  of  the  Louisiana  Regiment  resplendent  in  a 
uniform  that  might  have  served  at  court. 

Ay,  and  there  was  yet  another  sort.  Every  flatboat- 
man  who  returned  to  Kentucky  was  full  of  tales  of  the 
marvellous  beauty  of  the  quadroons  and  octoroons,  stories 
which  I  had  taken  with  a  grain  of  salt ;  but  they  had  not 
indeed  been  greatly  overdrawn.  For  here  were  these 
ladies  in  the  flesh,  their  great,  opaque,  almond  eyes  con 
suming  us  with  a  swift  glance,  and  each  walking  with  a 
languid  grace  beside  her  duenna.  Their  faces  were  like 
old  ivory,  their  dress  the  stern  Miro  himself  could  scarce 
repress.  In  former  times  they  had  been  lavish  in  their 
finery,  and  even  now  earrings  still  gleamed  and  color 
broke  out  irrepressibly. 

Nick  was  delighted,  but  he  had  not  dragged  me  twice 
the  length  of  the  esplanade  ere  his  eye  was  caught  by  a 
young  lady  in  pink  who  sauntered  between  an  elderly 
gentleman  in  black  silk  and  a  young  man  more  gayly 
dressed. 

"  Egtid,"  said  Nick,  "  there  is  my  divinity,  and  I  need 
not  look  a  step  farther." 

I  laughed. 

"  You  have  but  to  choose,  I  suppose,  and  all  falls  your 
way,"  I  answered. 

"  But  look  !  "  he  cried,  halting  me  to  stare  after  the 
girl,  "  what  a  face,  and  what  a  form  !  And  what  a  carriage, 


374  THE  CROSSING 

by  Jove  !  There  is  breeding  for  you  !  And  Davy,  did 
you  mark  the  gentle,  rounded  arm?  Thank  heaven  these 
short  sleeves  are  the  fashion." 

"  You  are  mad,  Nick,"  I  answered,  pulling  him  on, 
"these  people  are  not  to  be  stared  at  so.  And  once  I 
present  our  letters  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre,  it  will  not 
be  difficult  to  know  any  of  them." 

"  Look  !  "  said  he,  "that  young  man,  lover  or  husband, 
is  a  brute.  On  my  soul,  they  are  quarrelling." 

The  three  had  stopped  by  a  bench  under  a  tree.  The 
young  man,  who  wore  claret  silk  and  a  sword,  had  one 
of  those  thin  faces  of  dirty  complexion  which  show  the 
ravages  of  dissipation,  and  he  was  talking  with  a  rapidity 
and  vehemence  of  which  only  a  Latin  tongue  will  admit. 
We  could  see,  likewise,  that  the  girl  was  answering  with 
spirit,  —  indeed,  I  should  write  a  stronger  word  than 
spirit,  —  while  the  elderly  gentleman,  who  had  a  good- 
humored,  fleshy  face  and  figure,  was  plainly  doing  his  best 
to  calm  them  both.  People  who  were  passing  stared  curi 
ously  at  the  three. 

"  Your  divinity  evidently  has  a  temper,  "  I  remarked. 

"  For  that  scoundel  —  certainly,"  said  Nick ;  "  but  come, 
they  are  moving  on." 

"  You  mean  to  follow  them  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  he.  "  We  will  find  out  where  they 
live  and  who  they  are,  at  least." 

"  And  you  have  taken  a  fancy  to  this  girl  ?  " 

"  I  have  looked  them  all  over,  and  she's  by  far  the  best 
I've  seen.  I  can  say  so  much  honestly." 

"But  she  may  be  married,"  I  said  weakly. 

"  Tut,  Davy,"  he  answered,  "  it's  more  than  likely,  from 
the  violence  of  their  quarrel.  But  if  so,  we  will  try  again." 

"  We  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  come  on  !  "  he  cried,  dragging  me  by  the  sleeve, 
"or  we  shall  lose  them." 

I  resisted  no  longer,  but  followed  him  down  the  levee, 
in  my  heart  thanking  heaven  that  he  had  not  taken  a 
fancy  to  an  octoroon.  Twilight  had  set  in  strongly,  the 
gay  crowd  was  beginning  to  disperse,  and  in  the  distance 


THE   STRANGE  CITY  375 

the  three  figures  could  be  seen  making  their  way  across 
the  Place  d'Arines,  the  girl  hanging  on  the  elderly  gen 
tleman's  arm,  and  the  young  man  following  with  seeming 
sullenness  behind.  They  turned  into  one  of  the  nar 
rower  streets,  and  we  quickened  our  steps.  Lights 
gleamed  in  the  houses  ;  voices  and  laughter,  and  once  the 
tinkle  of  a  guitar,  came  to  us  from  court-yard  and  gallery. 
But  Nick,  hurrying  on,  came  near  to  bowling  more  than 
one  respectable  citizen  we  met  on  the  banquette,  into  the 
ditch.  We  reached  a  corner,  and  the  three  were  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

"  Curse  the  luck ! "  cried  Nick,  "  we  have  lost  them. 
The  next  time  I'll  stop  for  no  explanations." 

There  was  no  particular  reason  why  I  should  have  been 
penitent,  but  I  ventured  to  say  that  the  house  they  had 
entered  could  not  be  far  off. 

"  And  how  the  devil  are  we  to  know  it  ?  "  demanded 
Nick. 

This  puzzled  me  for  a  moment,  but  presently  I  began 
to  think  that  the  two  might  begin  quarrelling  again,  and 
said  so.  Nick  laughed  and  put  his  arm  around  my  neck. 

"  You  have  no  mean  ability  for  intrigue  when  you  put 
your  mind  to  it,  Davy,"  he  said;  "I  vow  I  believe  you  are 
in  love  with  the  girl  yourself." 

I  disclaimed  this  with  some  vehemence.  Indeed,  I  had 
scarcely  seen  her. 

"They  can't  be  far  off,"  said  Nick;  "we'll  pitch  on  a 
likely  house  and  camp  in  front  of  it  until  bedtime." 

"And  be  flung  into  a  filthy  calaboose  by  a  constable," 
said  I.  "  No,  thank  you." 

We  walked  on,  and  halfway  down  the  block  we  came 
upon  a  new  house  with  more  pretensions  than  its  neigh 
bors.  It  was  set  back  a  little  from  the  street,  and  there 
was  a  high  adobe  wall  into  which  a  pair  of  gates  were 
set,  and  a  wicket  opening  in  one  of  them.  Over  the  wall 
hung  a  dark  fringe  of  magnolia  and  orange  boughs.  On 
each  of  the  gate-posts  a  crouching  lion  was  outlined  dimly 
against  the  fainting  light,  and,  by  crossing  the  street,  we 
could  see  the  upper  line  of  a  latticed  gallery  under  the 


376  THE  CROSSING 

low  roof.  We  took  our  stand  within  the  empty  doorway 
of  a  blackened  house,  nearly  opposite,  and  there  we  waited, 
Nick  murmuring  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  things  in  my  ear. 
But  presently  I  began  to  reflect  upon  the  consequences  of 
being  taken  in  such  a  situation  by  a  constable  and  dragged 
into  the  light  of  a  public  examination.  I  put  this  to  Nick 
as  plainly  as  I  could,  and  was  declaring  my  intention  of 
going  back  to  Madame  Bouvet's,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
arrested  me.  The  voices  came  from  the  latticed  gallery, 
and  they  were  low  at  first,  but  soon  rose  to  such  an  angry 
pitch  that  I  made  no  doubt  we  had  hit  on  the  right  house 
after  all.  What  they  said  was  lost  to  us,  but  I  could  dis 
tinguish  the  woman's  voice,  low-pitched  and  vibrant  as 
though  insisting  upon  a  refusal,  and  the  man's  scarce  adult 
tones,  now  high  as  though  with  balked  passion,  now  shaken 
and  imploring.  I  was  for  leaving  the  place  at  once,  but 
Nick  clutched  my  arm  tightly;  and  suddenly,  as  I  stood  un 
decided,  the  voices  ceased  entirely,  there  were  the  sounds 
of  a  scuffle,  and  the  lattice  of  the  gallery  was  flung  open. 
In  the  all  but  darkness  we  saw  a  figure  climb  over  the  rail 
ing,  hang  suspended  for  an  instant,  and  drop  lightly  to  the 
ground.  Then  came  the  light  relief  of  a  woman's  gown 
in  the  opening  of  the  lattice,  the  cry  "  Auguste,  Au- 
guste  ! "  the  wicket  in  the  gate  opened  and  slammed,  and 
a  man  ran  at  top  speed  along  the  banquette  towards  the 
levee. 

Instinctively  I  seized  Nick  by  the  arm  as  he  started  out 
of  the  doorway. 

"  Let  me  go,"  he  cried  angrily,  "let  me  go,  Davy." 

But  I  held  on. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  I  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  twisted  and  struggled,  and 
before  I  knew  what  he  was  doing  he  had  pushed  me  off 
the  stone  step  into  a  tangle  of  blackened  beams  behind. 
I  dropped  his  arm  to  save  myself,  and  it  was  mere  good 
fortune  that  I  did  not  break  an  ankle  in  the  fall.  When  I 
had  gained  the  step  again  he  was  gone  after  the  man,  and 
a  portly  citizen  stood  in  front  of  me,  looking  into  the  door 
way. 


THE   STRANGE  CITY  377 

"  Qu'est-ce-qiCil-y-a  la  dedans  f  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  embarrassing  situation.  I  put  on 
a  bold  front,  however,  and  not  deigning  to  answer,  pushed 
past  him  and  walked  with  as  much  leisure  as  possible 
along  the  banquette  in  the  direction  which  Nick  had 
taken.  As  I  turned  the  corner  I  glanced  over  my  shoul 
der,  and  in  the  darkness  I  could  just  make  out  the  man 
standing  where  I  had  left  him.  In  great  uneasiness  I 
pursued  my  way,  my  imagination  summing  up  for  Nick 
all  kinds  of  adventures  with  disagreeable  consequences. 
I  walked  for  some  time  —  it  may  have  been  half  an  hour 
—  aimlessly,  and  finally  decided  it  would  be  best  to  go 
back  to  Madame  Bouvet's  and  await  the  issue  with  as 
much  calmness  as  possible.  He  might  not,  after  all,  have 
caught  the  fellow. 

There  were  few  people  in  the  dark  streets,  but  at  length 
I  met  a  man  who  gave  me  directions,  and  presently  found 
my  way  back  to  my  lodging  place.  Talk  and  laughter 
floated  through  the  latticed  windows  into  the  street,  and 
when  I  had  pushed  back  the  curtain  and  looked  into  the 
saloon  I  found  the  same  gaming  party  at  the  end  of  it, 
sitting  in  their  shirt-sleeves  amidst  the  moths  and  insects 
that  hovered  around  the  candles. 

"Ah,  Monsieur,"  said  Madame  Bouvet's  voice  behind 
me,  "  you  must  excuse  them.  They  will  come  here  and 
play,  the  young  gentlemen,  and  I  cannot  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  drive  them  away,  though  sometimes  I  lose  a  re 
spectable  lodger  by  their  noise.  But,  after  all,  what  would 
you  ?  "  she  added  with  a  shrug ;  "  I  love  them,  the  young 
men.  But,  Monsieur,"  she  cried,  "  you  have  had  no 
supper  !  And  where  is  Monsieur  your  companion  ? 
Comme  il  est  beau  garpon!" 

"  He  will  be  in  presently,"  I  answered  with  unwar 
ranted  assumption. 

Madame  shot  at  me  the  swiftest  of  glances  and  laughed, 
and  I  suspected  that  she  divined  Nick's  propensity  for 
adventure.  However,  she  said  nothing  more  than  to  bid 
me  sit  down  at  the  table,  and  presently  Zoey  came  in  with 
lights  and  strange,  highly  seasoned  dishes,  which  I  ate 


378  THE  CROSSING 

with  avidity,  notwithstanding  my  uneasiness  of  mind, 
watching  the  while  the  party  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 
There  were  rive  young  gentlemen  playing  a  game  I 
knew  not,  with  intervals  of  intense  silence,  and  boisterous 
laughter  and  execrations  while  the  cards  were  being  shuf 
fled  and  the  money  rang  on  the  board  and  glasses  were 
being  rilled  from  a  stand  at  one  side.  Presently  Madame 
Bouvet  returned,  and  placing  before  me  a  cup  of  wondrous 
coffee,  advanced  down  the  room  towards  them. 

"  Ah,  Messieurs,"  she  cried,  "  you  will  ruin  my  poor 
house." 

The  five  rose  and  bowed  with  marked  profundity. 
One  of  them,  with  a  puffy,  weak,  good-natured  face,  an 
swered  her  briskly,  and  after  a  little  raillery  she  came 
back  to  me.  I  had  a  question  not  over  discreet  on  my 
tongue's  tip. 

"  There  are  some  fine  residences  going  up  here,  Madame," 
I  said. 

"  Since  the  fire,  Monsieur,  the  dreadful  fire  of  Good 
Friday  a  year  ago.  You  admire  them  ?  " 

"  I  saw  one,"  I  answered  with  indifference,  "  with  a 
wall  and  lions  on  the  gate-posts  — " 

"  Mon  Dieu,  that  is  a  house,"  exclaimed  Madame ;  "  it 
belongs  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Ore." 

"  To  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  !  "  I  repeated. 

She  shot  a  look  at  me.  She  had  bright  little  eyes  like 
a  bird's,  that  shone  in  the  candlelight. 

"  You  know  him,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  I  heard  of  him  in  St.  Louis,"  I  answered. 

"  You  will  meet  him,  no  doubt,"  she  continued.  "  He 
is  a  very  fine  gentleman.  His  grandfather  was  Commis 
sary-general  of  the  colony,  and  he  himself  is  a  cousin  of 
the  Marquis  de  Saint-Gre1,  who  has  two  chateaux,  a  house 
in  Paris,  and  is  a  favorite  of  the  King."  She  paused,  as 
if  to  let  this  impress  itself  upon  me,  and  added  archly, 
"  Tenez,  Monsieur,  there  is  a  daughter  —  " 

She  stopped  abruptly. 

I  followed  her  glance,  and  my  first  impression  —  of 
claret-color  —  gave  me  a  shock.  My  second  confirmee) 


THE   STRANGE  CITY  379 

it,  for  in  the  semi-darkness  beyond  the  rays  of  the  candle 
was  a  thin,  eager  face,  prematurely  lined,  with  coal-black, 
lustrous  eyes  that  spoke  eloquently  of  indulgence.  In  an 
instant  I  knew  it  to  be  that  of  the  young  man  whom  I 
had  seen  on  the  levee. 

"  Monsieur  Auguste  ?  "  stammered  Madame. 

'•'•Bon  soir,  Madame,"  he  cried  gayly,  with  a  bow; 
"  diable,  they  are  already  at  it,  I  see,  and  the  punch  in 
the  bowl.  I  will  win  back  to-night  what  I  have  lost  by 
a  week  of  accursed  luck." 

"Monsieur  your  father  has  relented,  perhaps,"  said 
Madame,  deferentially. 

"  Relented  !  "  cried  the  young  man,  "  not  a  sou.  (Test 
6gal  I  I  have  the  means  here,"  and  he  tapped  his  pocket, 
"  I  have  the  means  here  to  set  me  on  my  feet  again, 
Madame." 

He  spoke  with  a  note  of  triumph,  and  Madame  took  a 
curious  step  towards  him. 

"  Qu 'est-ce-que  c'est,  Monsieur  Auguste  ?"  she  inquired. 

He  drew  something  that  glittered  from  his  pocket  and 
beckoned  to  her  to  follow  him  down  the  room,  which 
she  did  with  alacrity. 

"  Ha,  Adolphe,"  he  cried  to  the  young  man  of  the  puffy 
face,  "  I  will  have  my  revenge  to-night.  Voild ! "  and 
he  held  up  the  shining  thing,  "this  goes  to  the  highest 
bidder,  and  you  will  agree  that  it  is  worth  a  pretty 
sum." 

They  rose  from  their  chairs  and  clustered  around  him 
at  the  table,  Madame  in  their  midst,  staring  with  bent 
heads  at  the  trinket  which  he  held  to  the  light.  It 
was  Madame's  voice  I  heard  first,  in  a  kind  of  frightened 
cry. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Monsieur  Auguste,  you  will  not  part  with 
that !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  young  man,  indifferently. 
"  It  was  painted  by  Boze,  the  back  is  solid  gold,  and  the 
Jew  in  the  Rue  Toulouse  will  give  me  four  hundred  livres 
for  it  to-morrow  morning." 

There  followed  immediately  such  a  chorus  of  questions, 


380  THE  CROSSING 

exclamations,  and  shrill  protests  from  Madame  Bouvet, 
that  I  (being  such  a  laborious  French  scholar)  could  dis 
tinguish  but  little  of  what  they  said.  I  looked  in  wonder 
ment  at  the  gesticulating  figures  grouped  against  the 
light,  Madame  imploring,  the  youthful  profile  of  the  new 
comer  marked  with  a  cynical  and  scornful  refusal.  More 
than  once  I  was  for  rising  out  of  my  chair  to  go  over  and 
see  for  myself  what  the  object  was,  and  then,  suddenly,  I 
perceived  Madame  Bouvet  coming  towards  me  in  evident 
agitation.  She  sank  into  the  chair  beside  me. 

"  If  I  had  four  hundred  livres,"  she  said,  "  if  I  had  four 
hundred  livres !  " 

"  And  what  then?  "  I  asked. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  a  terrible  thing  has  happened. 
Auguste  de  Saint-Gre —  " 

"  Auguste  de  Saint-Gre !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  He  is  the  son  of  that  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  of  whom 
we  spoke,"  she  answered,  "  a  wild  lad,  a  spendthrift,  a  gam 
bler,  if  you  like.  And  yet  he  is  a  Saint-Gre,  Monsieur, 
and  I  cannot  refuse  him.  It  is  the  miniature  of  Mademoi 
selle  Helene  de  Saint-Gre,  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis, 
sent  to  Mamselle  'Toinette,  his  sister,  from  France.  How 
he  has  obtained  it  I  know  not." 

"  Ah !  "  I  exclaimed  sharply,  the  explanation  of  the 
scene  of  which  I  had  been  a  witness  coming  to  me  swiftly. 
The  rascal  had  wrenched  it  from  her  in  the  gallery  and 
fled. 

"  Monsieur,"  continued  Madame,  too  excited  to  notice 
my  interruption,  "  if  I  had  four  hundred  livres  I  would 
buy  it  of  him,  and  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  pere  would 
willingly  pay  it  back  in  the  morning." 

I  reflected.  I  had  a  letter  in  my  pocket  to  Monsieur  de 
Saint-Gre,  the  sum  was  not  large,  and  the  act  of  Monsieur 
Auguste  de  Saint-Gre  in  every  light  was  detestable.  A 
rising  anger  decided  me,  and  I  took  a  wallet  from  my 
pocket. 

"  I  will  buy  the  miniature,  Madame,"  I  said. 

She  looked  at  me  in  astonishment. 

"  God  bless  you,  Monsieur,"  she  cried;  "if  you  could  see 


THE   STKANGE  CITY 

Mamselle  'Toinette  you  would  pay  twice  the  sum.  The 
whole  town  loves  her.  Monsieur  Auguste,  Monsieur 
Auguste !  "  she  shouted,  "  here  is  a  gentleman  who  will 
buy  your  miniature." 

The  six  young  men  stopped  talking  and  stared  at  me 
with  one  accord.  Madame  arose,  and  I  followed  her 
down  the  room  towards  them,  and,  had  it  not  been  for 
my  indignation,  I  should  have  felt  sufficiently  ridiculous. 
Young  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gr^  came  forward  with  the 
good-natured,  easy  insolence  to  which  he  had  been  born, 
and  looked  me  over. 

"  Monsieur  is  an  American,"  he  said. 

"  I  understand  that  you  have  offered  this  miniature  for 
four  hundred  livres,"  I  said. 

"It  is  the  Jew's  price,"  he  answered;  "mais  pardieu, 
what  will  you?"  he  added  with  a  shrug,  "I  must  have 
the  money.  Regardez,  Monsieur,  you  have  a  bargain. 
Here  is  Mademoiselle  Helene  de  Saint-Gre",  daughter  of 
my  lord  the  Marquis  of  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  be  a 
cousin,"  and  he  made  a  bow.  "  It  is  by  the  famous  court 
painter,  Joseph  Boze,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Saint-Gre 
herself  is  a  favorite  of  her  Majesty."  He  held  the  por 
trait  close  to  the  candle  and  regarded  it  critically.  "  Ma 
demoiselle  Helene  Victoire  Marie  de  Saint-Gre,  painted  in 
a  costume  of  Henry  the  Second's  time,  with  a  ruff,  you 
notice,  which  she  wore  at  a  ball  given  by  his  Highness 
the  Prince  of  Conde  at  Chantilly.  A  trifle  haughty,  if 
you  like,  Monsieur,  but  I  venture  to  say  you  will  be  hope 
lessly  in  love  with  her  within  the  hour." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  titter  from  the  young 
gentlemen  at  the  table. 

"  All  of  which  is  neither  here  nor  there,  Monsieur,"  I 
answered  sharply.  "  The  question  is  purely  a  commercial 
one,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  lady's  character  or 
position." 

"  It  is  well  said,  Monsieur,"  Madame  Bouvet  put  in. 

Monsieur  Auguste  de  Saint-Gre  shrugged  his  slim 
shoulders  and  laid  down  the  portrait  on  the  walnut 
table. 


382  THE  CROSSING 

**  Four  hundred  livres,  Monsieur,"  he  said. 

I  counted  out  the  money,  scrutinized  by  the  curious 
eyes  of  his  companions,  and  pushed  it  over  to  him.  He 
bowed  carelessly,  sat  him  down,  and  began  to  shuffle  the 
cards,  while  I  picked  up  the  miniature  and  walked  out  of 
the  room.  Before  I  had  gone  twenty  paces  I  heard  them 
laughing  at  their  game  and  shouting  out  the  stakes.  Sud 
denly  I  bethought  myself  of  Nick.  What  if  he  should 
come  in  and  discover  the  party  at  the  table?  I  stopped 
short  in  the  hallway,  and  there  Madame  Bouvet  overtook 
me. 

"How  can  I  thank  you,  Monsieur?"  she  said.  And 
then,  "  You  will  return  the  portrait  to  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Gre?" 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  Monsieur  Gratiot  to  that  gentle 
man,  which  I  shall  deliver  in  the  morning,"  I  answered. 
"  And  now,  Madame,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  I  am  at  Monsieur's  service,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  When  Mr.  Temple  comes  in,  he  is  not  to  go  into  that 
room,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  door  of  the  saloon;  "I  have 
my  reasons  for  requesting  it." 

For  answer  Madame  went  to  the  door,  closed  it,  and 
turned  the  key.  Then  she  sat  down  beside  a  little  table 
with  a  candlestick  and  took  up  her  knitting. 

"  It  will  be  as  Monsieur  says,"  she  answered. 

I  smiled. 

"  And  when  Mr.  Temple  comes  in  will  you  kindly  say 
that  I  am  waiting  for  him  in  his  room  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  As  Monsieur  says,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish  Monsieur 
a  good-night  and  pleasant  dreams." 

She  took  a  candlestick  from  the  table,  lighted  the  candle, 
and  handed  it  me  with  a  courtesy.  I  bowed,  and  made 
my  way  along  the  gallery  above  the  deserted  court-yard. 
Entering  my  room  and  closing  the  door  after  me,  I  drew 
the  miniature  from  my  pocket  and  stood  gazing  at  it  for  I 
know  not  how  long. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LES  ILES 

I  STOOD  staring  at  the  portrait,  I  say,  with  a  kind  of 
fascination  that  astonished  me,  seeing  that  it  had  come  to 
me  in  such  a  way.  It  was  no  French  face  of  my  imagi 
nation,  and  as  I  looked  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  knew  Made 
moiselle  Helene  de  Saint-Gre.  And  yet  I  smile  as  I  write 
this,  realizing  full  well  that  my  strange  and  foreign  sur 
roundings  and  my  unforeseen  adventure  had  much  to  do 
with  my  state  of  mind.  The  lady  in  the  miniature  might 
have  been  eighteen,  or  thirty-five.  Her  features  were  of 
the  clearest  cut,  the  nose  the  least  trifle  aquiline,  and  by 
a  blurred  outline  the  painter  had  given  to  the  black  hair 
piled  high  upon  the  head  a  suggestion  of  waviness.  The 
eyebrows  were  straight,  the  brown  eyes  looked  at  the  world 
with  an  almost  scornful  sense  of  humor,  and  I  marked  that 
there  was  determination  in  the  chin.  Here  was  a  face  that 
could  be  infinitely  haughty  or  infinitely  tender,  a  mouth 
of  witty  —  nay,  perhaps  cutting  —  repartee  of  brevity  and 
force.  A  lady  who  spoke  quickly,  moved  quickly,  or 
reposed  absolutely.  A  person  who  commanded  by  nature 
and  yet  (dare  I  venture  the  thought  ?)  was  capable  of  a 
supreme  surrender.  I  was  aroused  from  this  odd  revery 
by  footsteps  on  the  gallery,  and  Nick  burst  into  the  room. 
Without  pausing  to  look  about  him,  he  flung  himself 
lengthwise  on  the  bed  on  top  of  the  mosquito  bar. 

"  A  thousand  curses  on  such  a  place,"  he  cried  ;  "  it  is 
full  of  rat  holes  and  rabbit  warrens." 

"  Did  you  catch  your  man  ?  "  I  asked  innocently. 

"  Catch  him  !  "  said  Nick,  with  a  little  excusable  pro 
fanity  ;  "he  went  in  at  one  end  of  such  a  warren  and  came 
out  at  another.  I  waited  for  him  in  two  streets  until  an 

383 


384  THE  CEOSSING 

officious  person  chanced  along  and  threatened  to  take  me 
before  the  Alcalde.  What  the  devil  is  that  you  have  got 
in  your  hand,  Davy  ?  "  he  demanded,  raising  his  head. 

"  A  miniature  that  took  my  fancy,  and  which  I  bought." 

He  rose  from  the  bed,  yawned,  and  taking  it  in  his  hand, 
held  it  to  the  light.  I  watched  him  curiously. 

"  Lord,"  he  said,  "  it  is  such  a  passion  as  I  might  have 
suspected  of  you,  Davy." 

"  There  was  nothing  said  about  passion,"  I  answered 
hotly. 

"  Then  why  the  deuce  did  you  buy  it  ?  "  he  said  with 
some  pertinence. 

This  staggered  me. 

"  A  man  may  fancy  a  thing,  without  indulging  in  a  pas 
sion,  I  suppose,"  I  replied. 

Nick  held  the  picture  at  arm's  length  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand  and  regarded  it  critically. 

"  Faith,"  said  he,  "  you  may  thank  heaven  it  is  only  a 
picture.  If  such  a  one  ever  got  hold  of  you,  Davy,  she 
would  general  you  even  as  you  general  me.  Egad,"  he 
added  with  a  laugh,  "  there  would  be  no  more  walking 
the  streets  at  night  in  search  of  adventure  for  you.  Con 
sider  carefully  the  masterful  features  of  that  lady  and 
thank  God  you  haven't  got  her." 

I  was  inclined  to  be  angry,  but  ended  by  laughing. 

"  There  will  be  no  rivalry  between  us,  at  least,"  I  said. 

"  Rivalry  !  "  exclaimed  Nick.  "  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  aspire  to  such  abject  slavery.  When  I  marry,  it 
will  be  to  command." 

"  All  the  more  honor  in  such  a  conquest,"  I  suggested. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  I  have  long  been  looking  for  some 
such  flaw  in  your  insuperable  wisdom.  But  I  vow  I  can 
keep  my  eyes  open  no  longer.  Benjy  !  " 

A  smothered  response  came  from  the  other  side  of  the 
wall,  and  Benjy  duly  appeared  in  the  doorway,  blinking 
at  the  candlelight,  to  put  his  master  to  bed. 

We  slept  that  night  with  no  bed  covering  save  the  mos 
quito  bar,  as  was  the  custom  in  New  Orleans.  Indeed,  the 
heat  was  most  oppressive,  but  we  had  become  to  some 


LES  tLES  385 

extent  inured  to  it  on  the  boat,  and  we  were  both  in  such 
sound  health  that  our  slumbers  were  not  disturbed.  Early 
in  the  morning,  however,  I  was  awakened  by  a  negro  song 
from  the  court-yard,  and  I  lay  pleasantly  for  some  minutes 
listening  to  the  early  sounds,  breathing  in  the  aroma  of 
coffee  which  mingled  with  the  odor  of  the  flowers  of  the 
court,  until  Zoey  herself  appeared  in  the  doorway,  holding 
a  cup  in  her  hand.  I  arose,  and  taking  the  miniature  from 
the  table,  gazed  at  it  in  the  yellow  morning  light ;  and 
then,  having  dressed  myself,  I  put  it  carefully  in  my 
pocket  and  sat  down  at  my  portfolio  to  compose  a  letter 
to  Polly  Ann,  knowing  that  a  description  of  what  I  had 
seen  in  New  Orleans  would  amuse  her.  This  done,  I  went 
out  into  the  gallery,  where  Madame  was  already  seated  at 
her  knitting,  in  the  shade  of  the  great  tree  that  stood  in 
the  corner  of  the  court  and  spread  its  branches  over  the 
eaves.  She  arose  and  courtesied,  with  a  questioning  smile. 

"  Madame,"  I  asked,  "  is  it  too  early  to  present  myself 
to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  ?  " 

"  Pardieu,  no,  Monsieur,  we  are  early  risers  in  the  South, 
for  we  have  our  siesta.  You  are  going  to  return  the  por 
trait,  Monsieur  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  God  bless  you  for  the  deed,"  said  she.  "  Tenez,  Mon 
sieur,"  she  added,  stepping  closer  to  me,  "you  will  tell  his 
father  that  you  bought  it  from  Monsieur  Auguste  ?  " 

I  saw  that  she  had  a  soft  spot  in  her  heart  for  the  rogue. 

"  I  will  make  no  promises,  Madame,"  I  answered. 

She  looked  at  me  timidly,  appealingly,  but  I  bowed 
and  departed.  The  sun  was  riding  up  into  the  sky,  the 
walls  already  glowing  with  his  heat,  and  a  midsummer 
languor  seemed  to  pervade  the  streets  as  I  walked  along. 
The  shadows  now  were  sharply  denned,  the  checkered 
foliage  of  the  trees  was  flung  in  black  against  the  yellow- 
white  wall  of  the  house  with  the  lions,  and  the  green- 
latticed  gallery  which  we  had  watched  the  night  before 
seemed  silent  and  deserted.  I  knocked  at  the  gate,  and 
presently  a  bright-turbaned  gardienne  opened  it. 

Was  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  at  home.  The  gardienne 
2o 


386  THE   CROSSING 

looked  me  over,  and  evidently  finding  me  respectable,  re 
plied  with  many  protestations  of  sorrow  that  he  was  not, 
that  he  had  gone  with  Mamselle  very  early  that  morning 
to  his  country  place  at  Les  lies.  This  information  I  ex 
tracted  with  difficulty,  for  I  was  not  by  any  means  versed 
in  the  negro  patois. 

As  I  walked  back  to  Madame  Bouvet's  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  there  was  but  the  one  thing  to  do,  to  go  at  once 
to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre's  plantation.  Finding  Madame 
still  waiting  in  the  gallery,  I  asked  her  to  direct  me  thither. 

"  You  have  but  to  follow  the  road  that  runs  southward 
along  the  levee,  and  some  three  leagues  will  bring  you  to  it, 
Monsieur.  You  will  inquire  for  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre." 

"  Can  you  direct  me  to  Mr.  Daniel  Clark's  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  American  merchant  and  banker,  the  friend  and 
associate  of  the  great  General  Wilkinson  whom  you  sent 
down  to  us  last  year  ?  Certainly,  Monsieur.  He  will  no 
doubt  give  you  better  advice  than  I  on  this  matter." 

I  found  Mr.  Clark  in  his  counting-room,  and  I  had  not 
talked  with  him  five  minutes  before  I  began  to  suspect 
that,  if  a  treasonable  understanding  existed  between  Wil 
kinson  and  the  Spanish  government,  Mr.  Clark  was  inno 
cent  of  it.  He  being  the  only  prominent  American  in  the 
place,  it  was  natural  that  Wilkinson  should  have  formed 
with  him  a  business  arrangement  to  care  for  the  cargoes 
he  sent  down.  Indeed,  after  we  had  sat  for  some  time 
chatting  together,  Mr.  Clark  began  himself  to  make 
guarded  inquiries  on  this  very  subject.  Did  I  know 
Wilkinson  ?  How  was  his  enterprise  of  selling  Kentucky 
products  regarded  at  home  ?  But  I  do  not  intend  to  bur 
den  this  story  with  accounts  of  a  matter  which,  though  it 
has  never  been  wholly  clear,  has  been  long  since  fairly 
settled  in  the  public  mind.  Mr.  Clark  was  most  amiable, 
accepted  my  statement  that  I  was  travelling  for  pleasure, 
and  honored  Monsieur  Chouteau's  bon  (for  my  purchase 
of  the  miniature  had  deprived  me  of  nearly  all  my  ready 
money),  and  said  that  Mr.  Temple  and  I  would  need 
horses  to  get  to  Les  fles. 

"  And  unless  you  purpose  going  back  to  Kentucky  by 


LES  ILES  387 

keel  boat,  or  round  by  sea  to  Philadelphia  or  New  York, 
and  cross  the  mountains,"  he  said,  "  you  will  need  good 
horses  for  your  journey  through  Natchez  and  the  Cumber 
land  country.  There  is  a  consignment  of  Spanish  horses 
from  the  westward  just  arrived  in  town,"  he  added,  "  and 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  go  with  you  to  the  place  where  they 
are  sold.  I  shall  not  presume  to  advise  a  Kentuckian  on 
such  a  purchase." 

The  horses  were  crowded  together  under  a  dirty  shed 
near  the  levee,  and  the  vessel  from  which  they  had  been 
landed  rode  at  anchor  in  the  river.  They  were  the  scrawny, 
tough  ponies  of  the  plains,  reasonably  cheap,  and  it  took  no 
great  discernment  on  my  part  to  choose  three  of  the  strong 
est  and  most  intelligent  looking.  We  went  next  to  a  sad 
dler's,  where  I  selected  three  saddles  and  bridles  of  Spanish 
workmanship,  and  Mr.  Clark  agreed  to  have  two  of  his 
servants  meet  us  with  the  horses  before  Madame  Bouvet's 
within  the  hour.  He  begged  that  we  would  dine  with  him 
when  we  returned  from  Les  lies. 

"  You  will  not  find  an  island,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  said  ; 
"  Saint-Gre's  plantation  is  a  huge  block  of  land  between 
the  river  and  a  cypress  swamp  behind.  Saint-Gre  is  a 
man  with  a  wonderful  quality  of  mind,  who  might,  like  his 
ancestors,  have  made  his  mark  if  necessity  had  probed  him 
or  opportunity  offered.  He  never  forgave  the  Spanish 
government  for  the  murder  of  his  father,  nor  do  I  blame 
him.  He  has  his  troubles.  His  son  is  an  incurable  rake 
and  degenerate,  as  you  may  have  heard." 

I  went  back  to  Madame  Bouvet's,  to  find  Nick  emerging 
from  his  toilet. 

"  What  deviltry  have  you  been  up  to,  Davy  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  House  of  the  Lions  to  see  your 
divinity,"  I  answered,  "  and  in  a  very  little  while  horses 
will  be  here  to  carry  us  to  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  grasping  me  by 
both  shoulders. 

"  I  mean  that  we  are  going  to  her  father's  plantation, 
some  way  down  the  river." 


388  THE  CROSSING 

"  On  my  honor,  Davy,  I  did  not  suspect  you  of  so  much 
enterprise,"  he  cried.  "  And  her  husband  —  ?  " 

"  Does  not  exist,"  I  replied.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  I 
might  be  able  to  give  you  instruction  in  the  conduct  of 
an  adventure.  The  man  you  chased  with  such  futility 
was  her  brother,  and  he  stole  from  her  the  miniature  of 
which  I  am  now  the  fortunate  possessor." 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment  in  rueful  amazement. 

"  And  her  name  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Antoinette  de  Saint-Gre,"  I  answered  ;  "  our  letter  is 
to  her  father." 

He  made  me  a  rueful  bow. 

"  I  fear  that  I  have  undervalued  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  no  peer.  I  am  unworthy  to  accompany 
you,  and  furthermore,  it  would  be  useless." 

"  And  why  useless  !  "  I  inquired,  laughing. 

"  You  have  doubtless  seen  the  lady,  and  she  is  yours," 
said  he. 

"You  forget  that  I  am  in  love  with  a  miniature,"  I 
said. 

In  half  an  hour  we  were  packed  and  ready,  the  horses 
had  arrived,  we  bade  good-by  to  Madame  Bouvet  and 
rode  down  the  miry  street  until  we  reached  the  road 
behind  the  levee.  Turning  southward,  we  soon  left  be 
hind  the  shaded  esplanade  and  the  city's  roofs  below 
us,  and  came  to  the  first  of  the  plantation  houses  set  back 
amidst  the  dark  foliage.  No  tremor  shook  the  fringe 
of  moss  that  hung  from  the  heavy  boughs,  so  still  was 
the  day,  and  an  indefinable,  milky  haze  stretched  between 
us  and  the  cloudless  sky  above.  The  sun's  rays  pierced 
it  and  gathered  fire  ;  the  mighty  river  beside  us  rolled 
listless  and  sullen,  flinging  back  the  heat  defiantly.  And 
on  our  left  was  a  tropical  forest  in  all  its  bewildering 
luxuriance,  the  live-oak,  the  hackberry,  the  myrtle,  the 
Spanish  bayonet  in  bristling  groups,  and  the  shaded  places 
gave  out  a  scented  moisture  like  an  orangery  ;  anon  we 
passed  fields  of  corn  and  cotton,  swamps  of  rice,  stretches 
of  poverty-stricken  indigo  plants,  gnawed  to  the  stem  by 
the  pest.  Our  ponies  ambled  on,  unmindful ;  but  Nick 


LES  1LES 

rowed  that  no  woman  under  heaven  would  induce  him  to 
undertake  such  a  journey  again. 

Some  three  miles  out  of  the  city  we  descried  two 
figures  on  horseback  coming  towards  us,  and  quickly  per 
ceived  that  one  was  a  gentleman,  the  other  his  black 
servant.  They  were  riding  at  a  more  rapid  pace  than 
the  day  warranted,  but  the  gentleman  reined  in  his 
sweating  horse  as  he  drew  near  to  us,  eyed  us  with  a 
curiosity  tempered  by  courtesy,  bowed  gravely,  and  put 
his  horse  to  a  canter  again. 

"  Phew  !  "  said  Nick,  twisting  in  his  saddle,  "  I  thought 
that  all  Creoles  were  lazy." 

"  We  have  met  the  exception,  perhaps,"  I  answered. 
"  Did  you  take  in  that  man  ?  " 

"  His  looks  were  a  little  remarkable,  come  to  think 
of  it,"  answered  Nick,  settling  down  into  his  saddle 
again. 

Indeed,  the  man's  face  had  struck  me  so  forcibly  that  I 
was  surprised  out  of  an  inquiry  which  I  had  meant  to 
make  of  him,  namely,  how  far  we  were  from  the  Saint-Gre 
plantation.  We  pursued  our  way  slowly,  from  time  to 
time  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  dwelling  almost  hid  in  the 
distant  foliage,  until  at  length  we  came  to  a  place  a  little 
more  pretentious  than  those  which  we  had  seen.  From 
the  road  a  graceful  flight  of  wooden  steps  climbed  the 
levee  and  descended  on  the  far  side  to  a  boat  landing,  and 
a  straight  vista  cut  through  the  grove,  lined  by  wild 
orange  trees,  disclosed  the  white  pillars  and  galleries  of  a 
far-away  plantation  house.  The  grassy  path  leading 
through  the  vista  was  trimly  kept,  and  on  either  side  of 
it  in  the  moist,  green  shade  of  the  great  trees  flowers 
bloomed  in  a  profusion  of  startling  colors,  —  in  splotches 
of  scarlet  and  white  and  royal  purple. 

Nick  slipped  from  his  horse. 

"Behold  the  mansion  of  Mademoiselle  de  Saint-GreY' 
said  he,  waving  his  hand  up  the  vista. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  am  told  by  a  part  of  me  that  never  lies,  Davy,"  he 
answered,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart ;  "and  besides," 


390  THE  CROSSING 

he  added,  "I  should  dislike  devilishly  to  go  too  far  on 
such  a  day  and  have  to  come  back  again." 

"We  will  rest  here,"  I  said,  laughing,  "and  send  in 
Benjy  to  find  out." 

"Davy,"  he  answered,  with  withering  contempt,  "you 
have  no  more  romance  in  you  than  a  turnip.  We  will  go 
ourselves  and  see  what  befalls." 

"Very  well,  then,"  I  answered,  falling  in  with  his 
humor,  "  we  will  go  ourselves." 

He  brushed  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  gave  him 
self  a  pull  here  and  a  pat  there,  and  led  the  way  down  the 
alley.  But  we  had  not  gone  far  before  he  turned  into  a 
path  that  entered  the  grove  on  the  right,  and  to  this  like 
wise  I  made  no  protest.  We  soon  found  ourselves  in  a 
heavenly  spot,  —  sheltered  from  the  sun's  rays  by  a  dense 
verdure,  —  and  no  one  who  has  not  visited  these  Southern 
country  places  can  know  the  teeming  fragrance  there. 
One  shrub  (how  well  I  recall  it !)  was  like  unto  the  per 
fume  of  all  the  flowers  and  all  the  fruits,  the  very  essence 
of  the  delicious  languor  of  the  place  that  made  our  steps 
to  falter.  A  bird  shot  a  bright  flame  of  color  through  the 
checkered  light  ahead  of  us.  Suddenly  a  sound  brought 
us  to  a  halt,  and  we  stood  in  a  tense  and  wondering 
silence.  The  words  of  a  song,  sung  carelessly  in  a  clear, 
girlish  voice,  came  to  us  from  beyond. 

"  Je  voudrais  bien  me  marier, 
Je  voudrais  bien  me  marier, 
Mais  fai  grand'  peur  de  me  tromper: 
Mais  fai  grand'  peur  de  me  tromper: 

Us  sont  si  malhonnetes  ! 

Ma  luron,  ma  lurette, 

Us  sont  si  malhonnetes  ! 

Ma  luron,  ma  lure'." 

"  We  have  come  at  the  very  zenith  of  opportunity,"  I 
whispered. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  said. 

"  Je  ne  veux  pas  d'un  avocat, 
Je  ne  veux  pas  d'un  avocat, 
Car  Us  aiment  trop  les  ducats, 
Car  Us  aiment  trop  les  ducats, 


LES  1LES  391 

Us  trompent  les  fllettes, 
Ma  luron,  ma  lurette, 
Us  trompent  les  fillettes, 
Ma  luron,  ma  lure." 

"  Eliminating  Mr.  Ritchie,  I  believe,"  said  Nick,  turn 
ing  on  me  with  a  grimace.  "  But  hark  again  !  " 

"  Je  voudrais  bien  d'un  qfficier : 
Je  voudrais  bien  d'  un  qfficier : 
Je  marcherais  a  pas  cdrres, 
Je  marcherais  a  pas  cdrres, 

Dans  ma  joli'  chambrette, 

Ma  luron,  ma  lurette, 

Dans  ma  joli'  chambrette, 

Ma  luron,  ma  lure." 

The  song  ceased  with  a  sound  that  was  half  laughter, 
half  sigh.  Before  I  realized  what  he  was  doing,  Nick, 
instead  of  retracing  his  steps  towards  the  house,  started 
forward.  The  path  led  through  a  dense  thicket  which  be 
came  a  casino  hedge,  and  suddenly  I  found  myself  peering 
over  his  shoulder  into  a  little  garden  bewildering  in  color. 
In  the  centre  of  the  garden  a  great  live-oak  spread  its 
sheltering  branches.  Around  the  gnarled  trunk  was  a 
seat.  And  on  the  seat,  —  her  sewing  fallen  into  her  lap, 
her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  staring  wide,  sat  the  young  lady 
whom  we  had  seen  on  the  levee  the  evening  before.  And 
Nick  was  making  a  bow  in  his  grandest  manner. 

" Helas,  Mademoiselle"  he  said,  "je  ne  suis  pas  offider, 
mais  on  pent  arranger  tout  cela,  sans  doute." 

My  breath  was  taken  away  by  this  unheard-of  audacity, 
and  I  braced  myself  against  screams,  flight,  and  other 
feminine  demonstrations  of  terror.  The  young  lady  did 
nothing  of  the  kind.  She  turned  her  back  to  us,  leaned 
against  the  tree,  and  to  my  astonishment  I  saw  her  slim 
shoulders  shaken  with  laughter.  At  length,  very  slowly, 
she  looked  around,  and  in  her  face  struggled  curiosity 
and  fear  and  merriment.  Nick  made  another  bow,  worthy 
of  Versailles,  and  she  gave  a  frightened  little  laugh. 

"  You  are  English,  Messieurs  —  yes  ?  "  she  ventured. 

"  We  were  once  !  "  cried  Nick,  "  but  we  have  changed, 
Mademoiselle." 


392  THE  CBOSSING 

" Et  quoi  done?  "  relapsing  into  her  own  language. 

"  Americans,"  said  he.  "  Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you 
the  Honorable  David  Ritchie,  whom  you  rejected  a  few 
moments  ago." 

"  Whom  I  rejected  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Alas,"  said  Nick,  with  a  commiserating  glance  at  me, 
"  he  has  the  misfortune  to  be  a  lawyer." 

Mademoiselle  shot  at  me  the  swiftest  and  shyest  of 
glances,  and  turned  to  us  once  more  her  quivering  shoul 
ders.  There  was  a  brief  silence. 

"  Mademoiselle  ?  "  said  Nick,  taking  a  step  on  the  garden 
path. 

"  Monsieur  ?  "  she  answered,  without  so  much  as  look 
ing  around. 

"  What,  now,  would  you  take  this  gentleman  to  be  ?  " 
he  asked  with  an  insistence  not  to  be  denied. 

Again  she  was  shaken  with  laughter,  and  suddenly  to 
my  surprise  she  turned  and  looked  full  at  me. 

"  In  English,  Monsieur,  you  call  it  —  a  gallant  ?  " 

My  face  fairly  tingled,  and  I  heard  Nick  laughing  with 
unseemly  merriment. 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  "you  are  a  judge  of 
character,  and  you  have  read  him  perfectly." 

"  Then  I  must  leave  you,  Messieurs,"  she  answered, 
with  her  eyes  in  her  lap.  But  she  made  no  move  to  go. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  of  Mr.  Ritchie,  Mademoiselle," 
answered  Nick,  instantly.  "I  am  here  to  protect  you 
against  his  gallantry." 

This  time  Nick  received  the  glance,  and  quailed  be 
fore  it. 

"  And  who  — par  exemple  —  is  to  protect  me  against  — 
you,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  asked  in  the  lowest  of  voices. 

"  You  forget  that  I,  too,  am  unprotected  —  and  vulner 
able,  Mademoiselle,"  he  answered. 

Her  face  was  hidden  again,  but  not  for  long. 

"  How  did  you  come  ?  "  she  demanded  presently. 

"On  air,"  he  answered,  "for  we  saw  you  in  New 
Orleans  yesterday." 

"And  — why?" 


LES  1LES  393 

"Need  you  ask,  Mademoiselle?"  said  the  rogue,  and 
then,  with  more  effrontery  than  ever,  he  began  to  sing  :  — 

" '  Je  voudrais  bien  me  marier, 
Je  voudrais  bien  me  marier, 
Mais  j'ai  grand'  peur  de  me  tromper.' " 

She  rose,  her  sewing  falling  to  the  ground,  and  took  a 
few  startled  steps  towards  us. 

"  Monsieur  !  you  will  be  heard,"  she  cried. 

"  And  put  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,"  said  Nick. 

"  I  must  leave  you,"  she  said,  with  the  quaintest  of 
English  pronunciation. 

Yet  she  stood  irresolute  in  the  garden  path,  a  picture 
against  the  dark  green  leaves  and  the  flowers.  Her  age 
might  have  been  seventeen.  Her  gown  was  of  some  soft 
and  light  material  printed  in  buds  of  delicate  color,  her 
slim  arms  bare  above  the  elbow.  She  had  the  ivory  com 
plexion  of  the  province,  more  delicate  than  I  had  yet  seen, 
and  beyond  that  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  her,  save 
to  add  that  she  was  such  a  strange  mixture  of  innocence 
and  ingenuousness  and  coquetry  as  I  had  not  imagined. 
Presently  her  gaze  was  fixed  seriously  on  me. 

"  Do  you  think  it  very  wrong,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  was  more  than  taken  aback  by  this  tribute. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Nick,  "  the  arbiter  of  etiquette  !  " 

"  Since  I  am  here,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered,  with  any 
thing  but  readiness,  "  I  am  not  a  proper  judge." 

Her  next  question  staggered  me. 

"  You  are  well-born  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Mr.  Ritchie's  grandfather  was  a  Scottish  earl,"  said 
Nick,  immediately,  a  piece  of  news  that  startled  me  into 
protest.  "It  is  true,  Davy,  though  you  may  not  know 
it,"  he  added. 

"  And  you,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  said  to  Nick. 

"  I  am  his  cousin,  —  is  it  not  honor  enough  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yet  you  do  not  resemble  one  another." 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  has  all  the  good  looks  in  the  family,"  said 
Nick. 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  the  young  lady,  and  this  time  she  gave 
us  her  profile. 


394  THE   CKOSSING 

"  Come,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Nick,  "  since  the  fates  have 
cast  the  die,  let  us  all  sit  down  in  the  shade.  The  place 
was  made  for  us." 

"  Monsieur  !  "  she  cried,  giving  back,  "  I  have  never  in 
my  life  been  alone  with  gentlemen." 

"  But  Mr.  Ritchie  is  a  duenna  to  satisfy  the  most  exact 
ing,"  said  Nick ;  "  when  you  know  him  better  you  will 
believe  me." 

She  laughed  softly  and  glanced  at  me.  By  this  time  we 
were  all  three  under  the  branches. 

"  Monsieur,  you  do  not  understand  the  French  customs. 
Man  Dieu,  if  the  good  Sister  Lorette  could  see  me  now  — " 

"  But  she  is  safe  in  the  convent,"  said  Nick.  "  Are 
they  going  to  put  glass  on  the  walls  ?  " 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  Mademoiselle,  innocently. 

"  Because,"  said  Nick,  "  because  a  very  bad  man  has 
come  to  New  Orleans,  —  one  who  is  given  to  climbing 
walls." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  when  I  found  that  a  certain  demoiselle  had 
left  the  convent,  I  was  no  longer  anxious  to  climb  them." 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  I  had  left  it  ?  " 

I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  this  were  coquetry  or 
innocence. 

"  Because  I  saw  you  on  the  levee,"  said  Nick. 

"  You  saw  me  on  the  levee  ? "  she  repeated,  giving 
back. 

"  And  I  had  a  great  fear,"  the  rogue  persisted. 

"  A  fear  of  what  ?  " 

"  A  fear  that  you  were  married,"  he  said,  with  a  bold 
ness  that  made  me  blush.  As  for  Mademoiselle,  a  color 
that  vied  with  the  June  roses  charged  through  her  cheeks. 
She  stooped  to  pick  up  her  sewing,  but  Nick  was  before 
her. 

"  And  why  did  you  think  me  married  ?  "  she  asked  in  a 
voice  so  low  that  we  scarcely  heard. 

"  Faith,"  said  Nick,  "  because  you  seemed  to  be  quarrel 
ling  with  a  man." 

She  turned  to  him  with  an  irresistible  seriousness. 


LES  1LES  395 

"  And  is  that  your  idea  of  marriage,  Monsieur  ?  " 

This  time  it  was  I  who  laughed,  for  he  had  been  hit 
very  fairly. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  for  a  moment  think 
it  could  have  been  a  love  match." 

Mademoiselle  turned  away  and  laughed. 

"  You  are  the  very  strangest  man  I  have  ever  seen," 
she  said. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  my  notion  of  a  love  match,  Made 
moiselle  ?  "  said  Nick. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  be  well  versed  in  the  subject, 
Monsieur,"  she  answered,  speaking  to  the  tree,  "  but  here 
is  scarcely  the  time  and  place."  She  wound  up  her  sew 
ing,  and  faced  him.  "I  must  really  leave  you,"  she  said. 

He  took  a  step  towards  her  and  stood  looking  down  into 
her  face.  Her  eyes  dropped. 

"  And  am  I  never  to  see  you  again  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Monsieur  !  "  she  cried  softly,  "  I  do  not  know  who 
you  are."  She  made  him  a  courtesy,  took  a  few  steps  in 
the  opposite  path,  and  turned.  "  That  depends  upon  your 
ingenuity,"  she  added  ;  "  you  seem  to  have  no  lack  of  it, 
Monsieur." 

Nick  was  transported. 

"  You  must  not  go,"  he  cried. 

"  Must  not  ?  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  thus,  Mon 
sieur  ?  "  Then  she  tempered  it.  "  There  is  a  lady  here 
whom  I  love,  and  who  is  ill.  I  must  not  be  long  from  her 
bedside." 

"  She  is  very  ill  ? "  said  Nick,  probably  for  want  of 
something  better. 

"  She  is  not  really  ill,  Monsieur,  but  depressed  —  is  not 
that  the  word  ?  She  is  a  very  dear  friend,  and  she  has 
had  trouble  —  so  much,  Monsieur,  —  and  my  mother 
brought  her  here.  We  love  her  as  one  of  the  family." 

This  was  certainly  ingenuous,  and  it  was  plain  that  the 
girl  gave  us  this  story  through  a  certain  nervousness,  for 
she  twisted  her  sewing  in  her  fingers  as  she  spoke. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Nick,  "  I  would  not  keep  you 
from  such  an  errand  of  mercy." 


396  THE  CROSSING 

She  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  more  dangerous  than  any 
which  had  gone  before. 

"  And  besides,"  he  went  on,  "  we  have  come  to  stay 
awhile  with  you,  Mr.  Ritchie  and  myself." 

"  You  have  come  to  stay  awhile  ?    she  said. 

I  thought  it  time  that  the  farce  were  ended. 

"  We  have  come  with  letters  to  your  father,  Monsieur 
de  Saint-Ore",  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "and  I  should  like 
very  much  to  see  him,  if  he  is  at  leisure." 

Mademoiselle  stared  at  me  in  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  But  did  you  not  meet  him,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"  He  left  an  hour  ago  for  New  Orleans.  You  must  have 
met  a  gentleman  riding  very  fast." 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  astonished. 

"  But  that  was  not  your  father  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Et  pourquoi  non  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Is  not  your  father  the  stout  gentleman  whom  I  saw 
with  you  on  the  levee  last  evening  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  laughed. 

"You  have  been  observing,  Monsieur,"  she  said. 
"  That  was  my  uncle,  Monsieur  de  Beause*jour.  You 
saw  me  quarrelling  with  my  brother,  Auguste,"  she  went 
on  a  little  excitedly.  "  Oh,  I  am  very  much  ashamed  of 
it.  I  was  so  angry.  My  cousin,  Mademoiselle  Helene 
de  Saint- Gre,  has  just  sent  me  from  France  such  a  beauti 
ful  miniature,  and  Auguste  fell  in  love  with  it." 

**  Fell  in  love  with  it !  "  I  exclaimed  involuntarily, 

"You  should  see  it,  Monsieur,  and  I  think  you  also 
would  fall  in  love  with  it." 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Nick. 

Mademoiselle  made  the  faintest  of  moues, 

"  Auguste  is  very  wild,  as  you  say,5'  she  continued, 
addressing  me,  "  he  is  a  great  care  to  my  father.  He 
intrigues,  you  know,  he  wishes  Louisiane  to  become  French 
once  more,  —  as  we  all  do.  But  I  should  not  say  this, 
Monsieur,"  she  added  in  a  startled  tone<,  "  You  will  not 
tell  ?  No,  I  know  you  will  note  We  do  not  like  the 
SpaniardSo  They  killed  my  grandfather  when  they  came 
to  take  the  province.,  And  once,  the  Governor-general 


LES  1LES  397 

Miro  sent  for  my  father  and  declared  he  would  put 
Auguste  in  prison  if  he  did  not  behave  himself.  But  I 
have  forgotten  the  miniature.  When  Auguste  saw  that 
he  fell  in  love  with  it,  and  now  he  wishes  to  go  to  France 
and  obtain  a  commission  through  our  cousin,  the  Marquis 
of  Saint-Ore",  and  marry  Mademoiselle  Helene." 

"A  comprehensive  programme,  indeed,"  said  Nick. 

"  My  father  has  gone  back  to  New  Orleans,"  she  said, 
"to  get  the  miniature  from  Auguste.  He  took  it  from 
me,  Monsieur."  She  raised  her  head  a  little  proudly. 
"  If  my  brother  had  asked  it,  I  might  have  given  it  to 
him,  though  I  treasured  it.  But  Auguste  is  so  —  impul 
sive.  My  uncle  told  my  father,  who  is  very  angry.  He 
will  punish  Auguste  severely,  and  —  and  I  do  not  like  to 
have  him  punished.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  the  miniature." 

"Your  wish  is  granted,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered, 
drawing  the  case  from  my  pocket  and  handing  it  to  her. 

She  took  it,  staring  at  me  with  eyes  wide  with  wonder, 
and  then  she  opened  it  mechanically. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said  with  great  dignity,  "  do  you  mind 
telling  me  where  you  obtained  this  ?  " 

"  I  found  it,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered ;  and  as  I  spoke 
I  felt  Nick's  fingers  on  my  arm. 

"  You  found  it  ?     Where  ?     How,  Monsieur  ?  '• 

"At  Madame  Bouvet's,  the  house  where  we  stayed." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  he  must  have 
dropped  it.  It  is  there  where  he  meets  his  associates, 
where  they  talk  of  the  French  Louisiane," 

Again  I  felt  Nick  pinching  me,  and  I  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief.  Mademoiselle  was  about  to  continue,  but  I  inter 
rupted  her. 

"  How  long  will  your  father  be  in  New  Orleans,  Made 
moiselle  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Until  he  finds  Auguste,"  she  answered.  "  It  may  be 
days,  but  he  will  stay,  for  he  is  very  angry.  But  will 
you  not  come  into  the  house,  Messieurs,  and  be  presented 
to  my  mother  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  have  been  very  —  inhos 
pitable,"  she  added  with  a  glance  at  Nick. 

We  followed  her  through  winding  paths  bordered  by 


398  THE  CKOSSING 

shrubs  and  flowers,  and  presently  came  to  a  low  house 
surrounded  by  a  wide,  cool  gallery,  and  shaded  by  spread 
ing  trees.  Behind  it  were  clustered  the  kitchens  and 
quarters  of  the  house  servants.  Mademoiselle,  picking 
up  her  dress,  ran  up  the  steps  ahead  of  us  and  turned 
to  the  left  in  the  hall  into  a  darkened  parlor.  The  floor 
was  bare,  save  for  a  few  mats,  and  in  the  corner  was  a 
massive  escritoire  of  mahogany  with  carved  feet,  and  there 
were  tables  and  chairs  of  a  like  pattern.  It  was  a  room 
of  more  distinction  than  I  had  seen  since  I  had  been  in 
Charlestown,  and  reflected  the  solidity  of  its  owners. 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  wait  here,  Messieurs," 
said  Mademoiselle,  "I  will  call  my  mother." 

And  she  left  us. 

I  sat  down,  rather  uncomfortably,  but  Nick  took  a  stand 
and  stood  staring  down  at  me  with  folded  arms. 

"  How  I  have  undervalued  you,  Davy,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  not  proud  of  it,"  I  answered  shortly. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  to  do  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  cannot  linger  here,"  I  answered ;  "  I  have  business 
with  Monsieur  de  Saint-Ore*,  and  I  must  go  back  to  New 
Orleans  at  once." 

"Then  I  will  wait  for  you,"  said  Nick.  "Davy,  I  have 
met  my  fate." 

I  laughed  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  heard  that  remark  before," 
I  answered. 

He  had  not  time  to  protest,  for  we  heard  footsteps  in 
the  hall,  and  Mademoiselle  entered,  leading  an  older  lady 
by  the  hand.  In  the  light  of  the  doorway  I  saw  that  she 
was  thin  and  small  and  yellow,  but  her  features  had  a 
regularity  and  her  mien  a  dignity  which  made  her  impress 
ing,  which  would  have  convinced  a  stranger  that  she  was 
a  person  of  birth  and  breeding.  Her  hair,  tinged  with 
gray,  was  crowned  by  a  lace  cap. 

"  Madame,"  I  said,  bowing  and  coming  forward,  "  I  am 
David  Ritchie,  from  Kentucky,  and  this  is  my  cousin,  Mr. 
Temple,  of  Charlestown.  Monsieur  Gratiot  and  Colonel 
Chouteau,  of  St.  Louis,  have  been  kind  enough  to  give  us 


LES  1LES  399 

letters  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre."  And  I  handed  her 
one  of  the  letters  which  I  had  ready. 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  Messieurs,"  she  answered,  with 
the  same  delightful  accent  which  her  daughter  had  used, 
"and  you  are  especially  welcome  from  such  a  source. 
The  friends  of  Colonel  Chouteau  and  of  Monsieur  Gratiot 
are  our  friends.  You  will  remain  with  us,  I  hope,  Mes 
sieurs,"  she  continued.  "  Monsieur  de  Saint-Gre  will 
return  in  a  few  days  at  best." 

"  By  your  leave,  Madame,  I  will  go  to  New  Orleans  at 
once  and  try  to  find  Monsieur,"  I  said,  "  for  I  have  busi 
ness  with  him." 

"  You  will  return  with  him,  I  hope,"  said  Madame. 

I  bowed. 

"And  Mr.  Temple  will  remain?"  she  asked,  with  a 
questioning  look  at  Nick. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world,  Madame," 
he  answered,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  his  sincerity. 
As  he  spoke,  Mademoiselle  turned  her  back  on  him. 

I  would  not  wait  for  dinner,  but  pausing  only  for  a  sip 
of  cool  Madeira  and  some  other  refreshment,  I  made  my 
farewells  to  the  ladies.  As  I  started  out  of  the  door  to 
find  Benjy,  who  had  been  waiting  for  more  than  an  hour, 
Mademoiselle  gave  me  a  neatly  folded  note. 

"  You  will  be  so  kind  as  to  present  that  to  my  father, 
Monsieur,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MONSIEUR   AUQUSTE  ENTRAPPED 

IT  may  be  well  to  declare  here  and  now  that  I  do  not 
intend  to  burden  this  story  with  the  business  which  had 
brought  me  to  New  Orleans.  While  in  the  city  during 
the  next  few  days  I  met  a  young  gentleman  named  Daniel 
Clark,  a  nephew  of  that  Mr.  Clark  of  whom  I  have  spoken. 
Many  years  after  the  time  of  which  I  write  this  Mr. 
Daniel  Clark  the  younger,  who  became  a  rich  merchant 
and  an  able  man  of  affairs,  published  a  book  which  sets 
forth  with  great  clearness  proofs  of  General  Wilkinson's 
duplicity  and  treason,  and  these  may  be  read  by  any  who 
would  satisfy  himself  further  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Whar- 
ton  had  not  believed,  nor  had  I  flattered  myself  that  I 
should  be  able  to  bring  such  a  fox  as  General  Wilkinson 
to  earth.  Abundant  circumstantial  evidence  I  obtained  : 
Wilkinson's  intimacy  with  Miro  was  well  known,  and  I 
likewise  learned  that  a  cipher  existed  between  them.  The 
permit  to  trade  given  by  Miro  to  Wilkinson  was  made  no 
secret  of.  In  brief,  I  may  say  that  I  discovered  as  much 
as  could  be  discovered  by  any  one  without  arousing  sus 
picion,  and  that  the  information  with  which  I  returned  to 
Kentucky  was  of  some  material  value  to  my  employers. 

I  have  to  thank  Monsieur  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  for  a 
great  deal.  And  I  take  this  opportunity  to  set  down  the 
fact  that  I  have  rarely  met  a  more  remarkable  man. 

As  I  rode  back  to  town  alone  a  whitish  film  was  spread 
before  the  sun,  and  ere  I  had  come  in  sight  of  the  forti 
fications  the  low  forest  on  the  western  bank  was  a  dark 
green  blur  against  the  sky.  The  esplanade  on  the  levee 
was  deserted,  the  willow  trees  had  a  mournful  look,  while 

400 


MONSIEUR  AUGUSTE  ENTRAPPED  401 

the  bright  tiles  of  yesterday  seemed  to  have  faded  to  a 
sombre  tone.  I  spied  Xavier  on  a  bench  smoking  with 
some  friends  of  his. 

"  He  make  much  rain  soon,  Michie,"  he  cried.  "  You 
hev  good  time,  I  hope,  Michie." 

I  waved  my  hand  and  rode  on,  past  the  Place  d'Armes 
with  its  white  diagonal  bands  strapping  its  green  like 
a  soldier's  front,  and  as  I  drew  up  before  the  gate  of 
the  House  of  the  Lions  the  warning  taps  of  the  storm 
were  drumming  on  the  magnolia  leaves.  The  same  gar- 
dienne  came  to  my  knock,  and  in  answer  to  her  shrill  cry 
a  negro  lad  appeared  to  hold  my  horse.  I  was  ushered 
into  a  brick-paved  archway  that  ran  under  the  latticed 
gallery  toward  a  flower-filled  court-yard,  but  ere  we  reached 
this  the  gardienne  turned  to  the  left  up  a  flight  of  steps 
with  a  delicate  balustrade  which  led  to  an  open  gallery 
above.  And  there  stood  the  gentleman  whom  we  had 
met  hurrying  to  town  in  the  morning.  A  gentleman  he 
was,  every  inch  of  him.  He  was  dressed  in  black  silk, 
his  hair  in  a  cue,  and  drawn  away  from  a  face  of  re 
markable  features.  He  had  a  high-bridged  nose,  a  black 
eye  that  held  an  inquiring  sternness,  a  chin  indented,  and 
a  receding  forehead.  His  stature  was  indeterminable. 
In  brief,  he  might  have  stood  for  one  of  those  persons  of 
birth  and  ability  who  become  prime  ministers  of  France. 

"  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  ?  "  I  said. 

He  bowed  gracefully,  but  with  a  tinge  of  condescen 
sion.  I  was  awed,  and  considering  the  relations  which 
I  had  already  had  with  his  family,  I  must  admit  that  I 
was  somewhat  frightened. 

"  Monsieur,"  I  said,  "  I  bring  letters  to  you  from  Mon 
sieur  Gratiot  and  Colonel  Chouteau  of  St.  Louis.  One  of 
these  I  had  the  honor  to  deliver  to  Madame  de  St.  Gre, 
and  here  is  the  other." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  another  keen  glance,  "  I  met  you 
this  morning,  did  I  not  ?  " 

"You  did,  Monsieur." 

He  broke  the  seal,  and,  going  to  the  edge  of  the  gallery, 
held  the  letter  to  the  light.  As  he  read  a  peal  of  thunder 

2D 


402  THE  CROSSING 

broke  distantly,  the  rain  came  down  in  a  flood.  Then  he 
folded  the  paper  carefully  and  turned  to  me  again. 

"  You  will  make  my  house  your  home,  Mr.  Ritchie," 
he  said  ;  "  recommended  from  such  a  source,  I  will  do  all 
I  can  to  serve  you.  But  where  is  this  Mr.  Temple  of 
whom  the  letter  speaks?  His  family  in  Charlestown  is 
known  to  me  by  repute." 

"  By  Madame  de  St.  Gre's  invitation  he  remained  at 
Les  lies,"  I  answered,  speaking  above  the  roar  of  the  rain. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  the  table,"  said  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre  ;  "  we  will  talk  as  we  eat." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  dining  room,  and  as  I  stood  on 
the  threshold  a  bolt  of  great  brilliancy  lighted  its  yellow- 
washed  floor  and  walnut  furniture  of  a  staid  pattern.  A 
deafening  crash  followed  as  we  took  our  seats,  while  Mon 
sieur  de  St.  Gre's  man  lighted  four  candles  of  green 
myrtle-berry  wax. 

"  Monsieur  Gratiot's  letter  speaks  vaguely  of  politics, 
Mr.  Ritchie,"  began  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre.  He  spoke  Eng 
lish  perfectly,  save  for  an  occasional  harsh  aspiration  which 
I  cannot  imitate. 

Directing  his  man  to  fetch  a  certain  kind  of  Madeira,  he 
turned  to  me  with  a  look  of  polite  inquiry  which  was 
scarcely  reassuring.  And  I  reflected,  the  caution  with 
which  I  had  been  endowed  coming  uppermost,  that  the 
man  might  have  changed  since  Monsieur  Gratiot  had  seen 
him.  He  had,  moreover,  the  air  of  a  man  who  gives  a 
forced  attention,  which  seemed  to  me  the  natural  conse 
quences  of  the  recent  actions  of  his  son. 

"  I  fear  that  I  am  intruding  upon  your  affairs,  Mon 
sieur,"  I  answered. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  he  said  politely.  "  I  have  met  that 
charming  gentleman,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  who  came  here  to 
brush  away  the  causes  of  dissension,  and  cement  a  friend 
ship  between  Kentucky  and  Louisiana." 

It  was  most  fortunate  that  the  note  of  irony  did  not 
escape  me. 

"  Where  governments  failed,  General  Wilkinson  suc 
ceeded,"  I  answered  dryly. 


MONSIEUR  AUGUSTS  ENTRAPPED  403 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  glanced  at  me,  and  an  enigmatical 
smile  spread  over  his  face.  I  knew  then  that  the  ice  was 
cracked  between  us.  Yet  he  was  too  much  a  man  of  the 
world  not  to  make  one  more  tentative  remark. 

"  A  union  between  Kentucky  and  Louisiana  would  be  a 
resistless  force  in  the  world,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  said. 

"It  was  Nebuchadnezzar  who  dreamed  of  a  composite 
image,  Monsieur,"  I  answered ;  "  and  Mr.  Wilkinson  for 
gets  one  thing,  —  that  Kentucky  is  a  part  of  the  United 
States." 

At  that  Monsieur  St.  Gre  laughed  outright.  He  became 
a  different  man,  though  he  lost  none  of  his  dignity. 

"  I  should  have  had  more  faith  in  my  old  friend  Gra- 
tiot,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  did  not  recog 
nize  at  once  the  statesman  he  had  sent  me,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  went  on,  returning  to  that  dignity  of 
mien  which  marked  him,  "  my  political  opinions  are  too 
well  known  that  I  should  make  a  mystery  of  them  to  you. 
I  was  born  a  Frenchman,  I  shall  die  a  Frenchman,  and  I 
shall  never  be  happy  until  Louisiana  is  French  once  more. 
My  great-grandfather,  a  brother  of  the  Marquis  de  St. 
Gre  of  that  time,  and  a  wild  blade  enough,  came  out  with 
D'Iberville.  His  son,  my  grandfather,  was  the  Commis 
sary-general  of  the  colony  under  the  Marquis  de  Vaudreuil. 
He  sent  me  to  France  for  my  education,  where  I  was  intro 
duced  at  court  by  my  kinsman,  the  old  Marquis,  who  took 
a  fancy  to  me  and  begged  me  to  remain.  It  was  my  father's 
wish  that  I  should  return,  and  I  did  not  disobey  him.  I 
had  scarcely  come  back,  Monsieur,  when  that  abominable 
secret  bargain  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth  became  known,  ced 
ing  Louisiana  to  Spain.  You  may  have  heard  of  the  revo 
lution  which  followed  here.  It  was  a  mild  affair,  and  the 
remembrance  of  it  makes  me  smile  to  this  day,  though  with 
bitterness.  I  was  five  and  twenty,  hot-headed,  and  French. 
Que  voulez-vous  f  "  and  Monsieur  de  St.  Gr6  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  O'Reilly,  the  famous  Spanish  general,  came 
with  his  men-of-war.  Well  I  remember  the  days  we  waited 
with  leaden  hearts  for  the  men-of-war  to  come  up  from  the 


404  THE  CROSSING 

English  turn ;  and  I  can  see  now  the  cannon  frowning 
from  the  ports,  the  grim  spars,  the  high  poops  crowded 
with  officers,  the  great  anchors  splashing  the  yellow  water. 
I  can  hear  the  chains  running.  The  ships  were  in  line  of 
battle  before  the  town,  their  flying  bridges  swung  to  the 
levee,  and  they  loomed  above  us  like  towering  fortresses. 
It  was  dark,  Monsieur,  such  as  this  afternoon,  and  we  poor 
French  colonists  stood  huddled  in  the  open  space  below, 
waiting  for  we  knew  not  what." 

He  paused,  and  I  started,  for  the  picture  he  drew  had 
carried  me  out  of  myself. 

"On  the  18th  of  August,  1769,  —  well  I  remember 
the  day,"  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  continued,  "the  Spanish 
troops  landed  late  in  the  afternoon,  twenty-six  hundred 
strong,  the  artillery  rumbling  over  the  bridges,  the  horses 
wheeling  and  rearing.  And  they  drew  up  as  in  line  of 
battle  in  the  Place  d'Armes, — dragoons,  fusileros  de  mon- 
taftas,  light  and  heavy  infantry.  Where  were  our  white 
cockades  then  ?  Fifty  guns  shook  the  town,  the  great 
O'Reilly  limped  ashore  through  the  smoke,  and  Louisiana 
was  lost  to  France.  We  had  a  cowardly  governor,  Mon 
sieur,  whose  name  is  written  in  the  annals  of  the  province 
in  letters  of  shame.  He  betrayed  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre 
and  others  into  O'Reilly's  hands,  and  when  my  father  was 
cast  into  prison  he  was  seized  with  such  a  fit  of  anger 
that  he  died." 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  was  silent.  Without,  under  the 
eaves  of  the  gallery,  a  white  rain  fell,  and  a  steaming 
moisture  arose  from  the  court-yard. 

"  What  I  have  told  you,  Monsieur,  is  common  knowl 
edge.  Louisiana  has  been  Spanish  for  twenty  years.  I 
no  longer  wear  the  white  cockade,  for  I  am  older  now." 
He  smiled.  "  Strange  things  are  happening  in  France,  and 
the  old  order  to  which  I  belong  "  (he  straightened  percep 
tibly)  "seems  to  be  tottering.  I  have  ceased  to  intrigue, 
but  thank  God  I  have  not  ceased  to  pray.  Perhaps  — 
who  knows? — perhaps  I  may  live  to  see  again  the  lily  of 
France  stirred  by  the  river  breeze." 

He  fell  into  a  revery,  his  fine  head  bent  a  little,  but 


MONSIEUR  AUGUSTS  ENTRAPPED  405 

presently  aroused  himself  and  eyed  me  curiously.  I  need 
not  say  that  I  felt  a  strange  liking  for  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  said,  "  will  you  tell  m« 
who  you  are,  and  how  I  can  serve  you  ? " 

The  servant  had  put  the  coffee  on  the  table  and  left  the 
room.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  himself  poured  me  a  cup 
from  the  dainty,  quaintly  wrought  Louis  Quinze  coffee 
pot,  graven  with  the  coat  of  arms  of  his  family.  As  we 
sat  talking,  my  admiration  for  my  host  increased,  for  I 
found  that  he  was  familiar  not  only  with  the  situation  in 
Kentucky,  but  that  he  also  knew  far  more  than  I  of  the 
principles  and  personnel  of  the  new  government  of  which 
General  Washington  was  President.  That  he  had  little 
sympathy  with  government  by  the  people  was  natural, 
for  he  was  a  Creole,  and  behind  that  a  member  of  an  order 
which  detested  republics.  When  we  were  got  beyond  these 
topics  the  rain  had  ceased,  the  night  had  fallen,  the  green 
candles  had  burned  low.  And  suddenly,  as  he  spoke  of 
Les  Isles,  I  remembered  the  note  Mademoiselle  had  given 
me  for  him,  and  I  apologized  for  my  forgetfulness.  He 
read  it,  and  dropped  it  with  an  exclamation. 

"  My  daughter  tells  me  that  you  have  returned  to  her  a 
miniature  which  she  lost,  Monsieur,"  he  said. 

"  I  had  that  pleasure,"  I  answered. 

"  And  that  —  you  found  this  miniature  at  Madame  Bou- 
vet's.  Was  this  the  case  ?  "  And  he  stared  hard  at  me. 

I  nodded,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  speak.  It 
seemed  an  outrage  to  lie  to  such  a  man.  He  did  not 
answer,  but  sat  lost  in  thought,  drumming  with  his  fingers 
on  the  tables  until  the  noise  of  the  slamming  of  a  door 
aroused  him  to  a  listening  posture.  The  sound  of  sub 
dued  voices  came  from  the  archway  below  us,  and  one  of 
these,  from  an  occasional  excited  and  feminine  note,  I 
thought  to  be  the  gardienne's.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre 
thrust  back  his  chair,  and  in  three  strides  was  at  the  edge 
of  the  gallery. 

"Auguste  !  "  he  cried. 

Silence. 

"Auguste,  come  up  to  me  at  once,"  he  said  in  French. 


406  THE  CROSSING 

Another  silence,  then  something  that  sounded  like 
"  Sapruti! "  a  groan  from  the  gardienne,  and  a  step  was 
heard  on  the  stairway.  My  own  discomfort  increased, 
and  I  would  have  given  much  to  be  in  any  other  place  in 
the  world.  Auguste  had  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  steps- 
but  was  apparently  unable  to  get  any  farther. 

"Bon  soir,  mon pere,"  he  said. 

"  Like  a  dutiful  son,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,  "  you 
heard  I  was  in  town,  and  called  to  pay  your  respects,  I  am 
sure.  I  am  delighted  to  find  you.  In  fact,  I  came  to 
town  for  that  purpose." 

"Lisette — "  began  Auguste. 

"  Thought  that  I  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed,  no 
doubt,"  said  his  father.  "Walk  in,  Auguste." 

Monsieur  Auguste's  slim  figure  appeared  in  the  door 
way.  He  caught  sight  of  me,  halted,  backed,  and  stood 
staring  with  widened  eyes.  The  candles  threw  their  light 
across  his  shoulder  on  the  face  of  the  elder  Monsieur  de 
St.  Gre.  Auguste  was  a  replica  of  his  father,  with  the 
features  minimized  to  regularity  and  the  brow  narrowed. 
The  complexion  of  the  one  was  a  clear  saffron,  while  the 
boy's  skin  was  mottled,  and  he  was  not  twenty. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre. 

"  You — you  have  a  visitor  !  "  stammered  Auguste,  with 
a  tact  that  savored  of  practice.  Yet  there  was  a  sorry 
difference  between  this  and  the  haughty  young  patrician 
who  had  sold  me  the  miniature. 

"  Who  brings  me  good  news,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre, 
in  English.  "  Mr.  Ritchie,  allow  me  to  introduce  my  son, 
Auguste." 

I  felt  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre's  eyes  on  me  as  I  bowed,  and 
I  began  to  think  I  was  in  near  as  great  a  predicament  as 
Auguste.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  was  managing  the  matter 
with  infinite  wisdom. 

"  Sit  down,  my  son,"  he  said  ;  "  you  have  no  doubt  been 
staying  with  your  uncle."  Auguste  sat  down,  still  staring. 
"  Does  your  aunt's  health  mend  ?  " 

"  She  is  better  to-night,  father,"  said  the  son,  in  English 
which  might  have  been  improved. 


MONSIEUR  AUGUSTE  ENTRAPPED  407 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,  taking  a 
chair.  "  Andre,  fill  the  glasses." 

The  silent,  linen-clad  mulatto  poured  out  the  Madeira, 
shot  a  look  at  Auguste,  and  retired  softly. 

"  There  has  been  a  heavy  rain,  Monsieur,"  said  Mon 
sieur  de  St.  Gre  to  me,  "  but  I  think  the  air  is  not  yet 
cleared.  I  was  about  to  say,  Mr.  Ritchie,  when  my  son 
called  to  pay  his  respects,  that  the  miniature  of  which  we 
were  speaking  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  paintings  I 
have  ever  seen."  Auguste's  thin  fingers  were  clutching 
the  chair.  "  I  have  never  beheld  Mademoiselle  Helene 
de  St.  Gre,  for  my  cousin,  the  Marquis,  was  not  married 
when  I  left  France.  He  was  a  captain  in  a  regiment  of  his 
Majesty's  Mousquetaires,  since  abolished.  But  I  am  sure 
that  the  likeness  of  Mademoiselle  must  be  a  true  one,  for  it 
has  the  stamp  of  a  remarkable  personality,  though  Helene 
can  be  only  eighteen.  Women,  with  us,  mature  quickly, 
Monsieur.  And  this  portrait  tallies  with  what  I  have  heard 
of  her  character.  You  no  doubt  observed  the  face,  Mon 
sieur,  —  that  of  a  true  aristocrat.  But  I  was  speaking  of 
her  character.  When  she  was  twelve,  she  said  something 
to  a  cardinal  for  which  her  mother  made  her  keep  her 
room  a  whole  day.  For  Mademoiselle  would  not  retract, 
and,  pardieu,  I  believe  his  Eminence  was  wrong.  The 
Marquise  is  afraid  of  her.  And  when  first  Helene  was 
presented  formally  she  made  such  a  witty  retort  to  the 
Queen's  sally  that  her  Majesty  insisted  upon  her  coming  to 
court.  On  every  New  Year's  day  I  have  always  sent  a 
present  of  coffee  and  perique  to  my  cousin  the  Marquis, 
and  it  is  Mademoiselle  who  writes  to  thank  us.  Parole 
d'honneur,  her  letters  make  me  see  again  the  people 
amongst  whom  she  moves,  —  the  dukes  and  duchesses, 
the  cardinals,  bishops,  and  generals.  She  draws  them  to 
the  life,  Monsieur,  with  a  touch  that  makes  them  all 
ridiculous.  His  Majesty  does  not  escape.  God  forgive 
him,  he  is  indeed  an  amiable,  weak  person  for  calling  a 
States  General.  And  the  Queen,  a  frivolous  lady,  but 
true  to  those  whom  she  loves,  and  beginning  now  to 
realize  the  perils  of  the  situation."  He  paused.  "Is 


408  THE  CROSSING 

it  any  wonder  that  Auguste  has  fallen  in  love  with  his 
cousin,  Monsieur  ?  That  he  loses  his  head,  forgets  that 
he  is  a  gentleman,  and  steals  her  portrait  from  his 
sister !  " 

Had  I  not  been  so  occupied  with  my  own  fate  in  the 
outcome  of  this  inquisition,  I  should  have  been  sorry  for 
Auguste.  And  yet  this  feeling  could  not  have  lasted,  for 
the  young  gentleman  sprang  to  his  feet,  cast  a  glance 
at  me  which  was  not  without  malignance,  and  faced  his 
father,  his  lips  twitching  with  anger  and  fear.  Monsieur 
de  St.  Gre  sat  undisturbed. 

"  He  is  so  much  in  love  with  the  portrait,  Monsieur, 
that  he  loses  it." 

"  Loses  it !  "  cried  Auguste. 

"  Precisely,"  said  his  father,  dryly,  "  for  Mr.  Ritchie 
tells  me  he  found  it  —  at  Madame  Bouvet's,  was  it  not, 
Monsieur  ?  " 

Auguste  looked  at  me. 

"  Mille  diables!"  he  said,  and  sat  down  again  heavily. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  has  returned  it  to  your  sister,  a  service 
which  puts  him  heavily  in  our  debt,"  said  Monsieur  de 
St.  Gre.  "  Now,  sir,"  he  added  to  me,  rising,  "  you  have 
had  a  tiresome  day.  I  will  show  you  to  your  room,  and 
in  the  morning  we  will  begin  our  —  investigations." 

He  clapped  his  hands,  the  silent  mulatto  appeared  with 
a  new  candle,  and  I  followed  my  host  down  the  gallery 
to  a  room  which  he  flung  open  at  the  far  end.  A  great 
four-poster  bedstead  was  in  one  corner,  and  a  polished 
mahogany  dresser  in  the  other. 

"  We  have  saved  some  of  our  family  furniture  from 
the  fire,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre;  "that 
bed  was  brought  from  Paris  by  my  father  forty  years  ago. 
I  hope  you  will  rest  well." 

He  set  the  candle  on  the  table,  and  as  he  bowed  there 
was  a  trace  of  an  enigmatical  smile  about  his  mouth.  How 
much  he  knew  of  Auguste's  transaction  I  could  not 
fathom,  but  the  matter  and  the  scarcely  creditable  part 
I  had  played  in  it  kept  me  awake  far  into  the  night.  I 
was  just  falling  into  a  troubled  sleep  when  a  footstep  on 


MONSIEUR  AUGUSTE  ENTRAPPED  409 

the  gallery  startled  me  back  to  consciousness.  It  was 
followed  by  a  light  tap  on  the  door. 

"  Monsieur  Reetchie,"  said  a  voice. 

It  was  Monsieur  Auguste.  He  was  not  an  imposing 
figure  in  his  nightrail,  and  by  the  light  of  the  carefully 
shaded  candle  he  held  in  his  hand  I  saw  that  he  had 
hitherto  deceived  me  in  the  matter  of  his  calves.  He 
stood  peering  at  me  as  I  lay  under  the  mosquito  bar. 

"  How  is  it  I  can  thank  you,  Monsieur  !  "  he  exclaimed 
in  a  whisper. 

"  By  saying  nothing,  Monsieur,"  I  answered. 

"  You  are  noble,  you  are  generous,  and  —  and  one  day 
I  will  give  you  the  money  back,"  he  added  with  a  burst 
of  magniloquence.  "  You  have  behave  very  well,  Mon 
sieur,  and  I  mek  you  my  friend.  Behol'  Auguste  de  St. 
Gre,  entirely  at  your  service,  Monsieur."  He  made  a 
sweeping  bow  that  might  have  been  impressive  save  for 
the  nightrail,  and  sought  my  hand,  which  he  grasped  in 
a  fold  of  the  mosquito  bar. 

"  I  am  overcome,  Monsieur,"  I  said. 

"  Monsieur  Reetchie,  you  are  my  friend,  my  intimate  " 
(he  put  an  aspirate  on  the  word).  "  I  go  to  tell  you  one 
leetle  secret.  I  find  that  I  can  repose  confidence  in  you. 
My  father  does  not  understan'  me,  you  saw,  Monsieur,  he 
does  not  appreciate  —  that  is  the  Engleesh.  Mon  Dieu, 
you  saw  it  this  night.  I,  who  spik  to  you,  am  made  for 
a  courtier,  a  noble.  I  have  the  gift.  La  Louisiane — she 
is  not  so  big  enough  for  me."  He  lowered  his  voice  still 
further,  and  bent  nearer  to  me.  "  Monsieur,  I  run  away 
to  France.  My  cousin  the  Marquis  will  help  me.  You 
will  hear  of  Auguste  de  St.  Gre  at  Versailles,  at  Trianon, 
at  Chantilly,  and  peut-etre  —  " 

"  It  is  a  worthy  campaign,  Monsieur,"  I  interrupted. 

A  distant  sound  broke  the  stillness,  and  Auguste  was 
near  to  dropping  the  candle  on  me. 

"Adievt,  Monsieur,"  he  whispered;  "milles  tonneres,  I 
have  done  one  extraordinaire  foolish  thing  when  I  am 
come  to  this  house  to-night." 

And  he  disappeared,  shading  his  candle,  as  he  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EETRIBUTION 

DUKING  the  next  two  days  I  had  more  evidence  of 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre's  ability,  and,  thanks  to  his  conduct 
of  my  campaign,  not  the  least  suspicion  of  my  mission  to 
New  Orleans  got  abroad.  Certain  gentlemen  were  asked 
to  dine,  we  called  on  others,  and  met  still  others  casually 
in  their  haunts  of  business  or  pleasure.  I  was  troubled 
because  of  the  inconvenience  and  discomfort  to  which  my 
host  put  himself,  for  New  Orleans  in  the  dog-days  may  be 
likened  in  climate  to  the  under  side  of  the  lid  of  a  steam 
kettle.  But  at  length,  on  the  second  evening,  after  we 
had  supped  on  jambalaya  and  rice  cakes  and  other  dainties, 
and  the  last  guest  had  gone,  my  host  turned  to  me. 

"  The  rest  of  the  burrow  is  the  same,  Mr.  Ritchie,  until 
it  comes  to  the  light  again." 

"  And  the  fox  has  crawled  out  of  the  other  end,"  I 
said. 

"  Precisely,"  he  answered,  laughing  ;  "  in  short,  if  you 
were  to  remain  in  New  Orleans  until  New  Year's,  you 
would  not  learn  a  whit  more.  To-morrow  morning  I 
have  a  little  business  of  my  own  to  transact,  and  we  shall 
get  to  Les  lies  in  time  for  dinner.  No,  don't  thank  me," 
he  protested ;  "  there's  a  certain  rough  honesty  and  earnest 
ness  ingrained  in  you  which  I  like.  And  besides,"  he 
added,  smiling,  "  you  are  poor  indeed  at  thanking,  Mr. 
Ritchie.  You  could  never  do  it  gracefully.  But  if  ever 
I  were  in  trouble,  I  believe  that  I  might  safely  call  on 
you." 

The  next  day  was  a  rare  one,  for  a  wind  from  some 
where  had  blown  the  moisture  away  a  little,  the  shadows 

410 


RETRIBUTION  411 

were  clearer  cut,  and  by  noon  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  and  I 
were  walking  our  horses  in  the  shady  road  behind  the 
levee.  We  were  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by 
Andre,  Monsieur's  mulatto  body-servant,  and  as  we  rode 
my  companion  gave  me  stories  of  the  owners  of  the  differ 
ent  plantations  we  passed,  and  spoke  of  many  events  of 
interest  in  the  history  of  the  colony.  Presently  he  ceased 
to  talk,  and  rode  in  silence  for  many  minutes.  And  then 
he  turned  upon  me  suddenly. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  said,  "  you  have  seen  my  son.  It 
may  be  that  in  him  I  am  paying  the  price  of  my  sins. 
I  have  done  everything  to  set  him  straight,  but  in  vain. 
Monsieur,  every  son  of  the  St.  Gres  has  awakened  sooner 
or  later  to  a  sense  of  what  becomes  him.  But  Auguste 
is  a  fool,"  he  cried  bitterly,  —  a  statement  which  I  could 
not  deny  ;  "  were  it  not  for  my  daughter,  Antoinette,  I 
should  be  a  miserable  man  indeed." 

Inasmuch  as  he  was  not  a  person  of  confidences,  I  felt 
the  more  nattered  that  he  should  speak  so  plainly  to  me, 
and  I  had  a  great  sympathy  for  this  strong  man  who  could 
not  help  himself. 

"  You  have  observed  Antoinette,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  con 
tinued  ;  "  she  is  a  strange  mixture  of  wilfulness  and 
caprice  and  self-sacrifice,  and  she  has  at  times  a  bit  of 
that  wit  which  has  made  our  house  for  generations  the 
intimates  —  I  may  say  —  of  sovereigns." 

This  peculiar  pride  of  race  would  have  amused  me  in 
another  man.  I  found  myself  listening  to  Monsieur  de 
St.  Gre  with  gravity,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  reply 
that  I  had  had  evidence  of  Mademoiselle's  aptness  of 
retort. 

"  She  has  been  my  companion  since  she  was  a  child, 
Monsieur.  She  has  disobeyed  me,  flaunted  me,  nursed  me 
in  illness,  championed  me  behind  my  back.  I  have  a  little 
book  which  I  have  kept  of  her  sayings  and  doings,  which 
may  interest  you,  Monsieur.  I  will  show  it  you." 

This  indeed  was  a  new  side  of  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,  and 
I  reflected  rather  ruefully  upon  the  unvarnished  truth  of 
what  Mr.  Wharton  had  told  me,  —  ay,  and  what  Colonel 


412  THE  CROSSING 

Clark  had  emphasized  long  before.  It  was  my  fate  never 
to  be  treated  as  a  young  man.  It  struck  me  that  Mon 
sieur  de  St.  Gre  had  never  even  considered  me  in  the 
light  of  a  possible  suitor  for  his  daughter's  hand. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  them,  Monsieur,"  I 
answered. 

"  Would  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  face  lighting  up  as 
he  glanced  at  me.  "  Alas,  Madame  de  St.  Gre  and  I  have 
promised  to  go  to  our  neighbors',  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Bertrand's,  for  to-night.  But,  to-morrow,  if  you  have 
leisure,  we  shall  look  at  it  together.  And  not  a  word 
of  this  to  my  daughter,  Monsieur,"  he  added  apprehen 
sively  ;  "  she  would  never  forgive  me.  She  dislikes  my 
talking  of  her,  but  at  times  I  cannot  help  it.  It  was  only 
last  year  that  she  was  very  angry  with  me,  and  would  not 
speak  to  me  for  days,  because  I  boasted  of  her  having 
watched  at  the  bedside  of  a  poor  gentleman  who  came 
here  and  got  the  fever.  You  will  not  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  shall  not,  Monsieur,"  I  answered. 

"  It  is  strange,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  it  is  strange  that 
this  gentleman  and  his  wife  should  likewise  have  had 
letters  to  us  from  Monsieur  Gratiot.  They  came  from 
St.  Louis,  and  they  were  on  their  way  to  Paris." 

"  To  Paris  ?  "  I  cried  ;  "  what  was  their  name  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  Clive,"  he  said. 

"  Clive  !  "  I  cried,  leaning  towards  him  in  my  saddle. 
"  Clive  !  And  what  became  of  them  ?  " 

This  time  he  gave  me  one  of  his  searching  looks,  and  it 
was  not  unmixed  with  astonishment. 

"  Why  do  you  ask,  Monsieur  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Did 
you  know  them  ?  " 

I  must  have  shown  that  I  was  strangely  agitated.  For 
the  moment  I  could  not  answer. 

"  Monsieur  Gratiot  himself  spoke  of  them  to  me,"  I  said, 
after  a  little  ;  "  he  said  they  were  an  interesting  couple." 

"Pardieu!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  St.  Grd,  "he  put 
it  mildly."  He  gave  me  another  look.  "  There  was  some 
thing  about  them,  Monsieur,  which  I  could  not  fathom. 


EETEIBUTION  413 

Why  were  they  drifting  ?  They  were  people  of  quality 
who  had  seen  the  world,  who  were  by  no  means  paupers, 
who  had  no  cause  to  travel  save  a  certain  restlessness. 
And  while  they  were  awaiting  the  sailing  of  the  packet 
for  France  they  came  to  our  house  —  the  old  one  in  the 
Rue  Bourbon  that  was  burned.  I  would  not  speak  ill  of 
the  dead,  but  Mr.  Clive  I  did  not  like.  He  fell  sick  of  the 
fever  in  my  house,  and  it  was  there  that  Antoinette  and 
Madame  de  St.  Ore"  took  turns  with  his  wife  in  watching 
at  his  bedside.  I  could  do  nothing  with  Antoinette,  Mon 
sieur,  and  she  would  not  listen  to  my  entreaties,  my  prayers, 
my  commands.  We  buried  the  poor  fellow  in  the  alien 
ground,  for  he  did  not  die  in  the  Church,  and  after  that  my 
daughter  clung  to  Mrs.  Clive.  She  would  not  let  her  go, 
and  the  packet  sailed  without  her.  I  have  never  seen  such 
affection.  I  may  say,"  he  added  quickly,  "that  Madame 
de  St.  Gr6*  and  I  share  in  it,  for  Mrs.  Clive  is  a  lovable 
woman  and  a  strong  character.  And  into  the  great  sor 
row  that  lies  behind  her  life,  we  have  never  probed." 

"  And  she  is  with  you  now,  Monsieur  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  lives  with  us,  Monsieur,"  he  answered  simply, 
"  and  I  hope  for  always.  No,"  he  said  quickly,  "  it  is  not 
charity,  —  she  has  something  of  her  own.  We  love  her, 
and  she  is  the  best  of  companions  for  my  daughter.  For 
the  rest,  Monsieur,  she  seems  benumbed,  with  no  desire  to 
go  back  or  to  go  farther."  A 

An  entrance  drive  to  the  plantation  of  Les  lies,  unknown 
to  Nick  and  me,  led  off  from  the  main  road  like  a  green 
tunnel  arched  out  of  the  forest.  My  feelings  as  we  en 
tered  this  may  be  imagined,  for  I  was  suddenly  confronted 
with  the  situation  which  I  had  dreaded  since  my  meeting 
with  Nick  at  Jonesboro.  I  could  scarcely  allow  myself 
even  the  faint  hope  that  Mrs.  Clive  might  not  prove  to 
be  Mrs.  Temple  after  all.  Whilst  I  was  in  this  agony 
of  doubt  and  indecision,  the  drive  suddenly  came  out  on 
a  shaded  lawn  dotted  with  flowering  bushes.  There  was 
the  house  with  its  gallery,  its  curved  dormer  roof  and  its 
belvedere ;  and  a  white,  girlish  figure  flitted  down  the 
steps.  It  was  Mademoiselle  Antoinette,  and  no  sooner 


414  THE   CROSSING 

had  her  father  dismounted  than  she  threw  herself  into 
his  arms.  Forgetful  of  my  presence,  he  stood  murmur 
ing  in  her  ear  like  a  lover ;  and  as  I  watched  them  my 
trouble  slipped  from  my  mind,  and  gave  place  to  a  vaguer 
regret  that  I  had  been  a  wanderer  throughout  my  life. 
Presently  she  turned  up  to  him  a  face  on  which  was  writ 
ten  something  which  he  could  not  understand.  His  own 
stronger  features  reflected  a  vague  disquiet. 

"  What  is  it,  ma  chSrie  ?  " 

What  was  it  indeed  ?  Something  was  in  her  eyes  which 
bore  a  message  and  presentiment  to  me.  She  dropped 
them,  fastening  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat  a  flaunting  red 
flower  set  against  a  shining  leaf,  and  there  was  a  gentle, 
joyous  subterfuge  in  her  answer. 

"  Thou  pardoned  Auguste,  as  I  commanded  ?  "  she  said. 
They  were  speaking  in  the  familiar  French. 

"  Ha,  diable  !  is  it  that  which  disquiets  thee  ?  "  said  her 
father.  "  We  will  not  speak  of  Auguste.  Dost  thou 
know  Monsieur  Ritchie,  'Toinette?" 

She  disengaged  herself  and  dropped  me  a  courtesy,  her 
eyes  seeking  the  ground.  But  she  said  not  a  word.  At 
that  instant  Madame  de  St.  Ore*  herself  appeared  on  the 
gallery,  followed  by  Nick,  who  came  down  the  steps  with 
a  careless  self-confidence  to  greet  the  master.  Indeed,  a 
stranger  might  have  thought  that  Mr.  Temple  was  the 
host,  and  I  saw  Antoinette  watching  him  furtively  with 
a  gleam  of  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  at  last,  Monsieur,"  said  my 
cousin.  "  I  am  Nicholas  Temple,  and  I  have  been  your 
guest  for  three  days." 

Had  Monsieur  de  St.  Gr6  been  other  than  the  soul  of 
hospitality,  it  would  have  been  impossible  not  to  welcome 
such  a  guest.  Our  host  had,  in  common  with  his  daugh 
ter,  a  sense  of  humor.  There  was  a  quizzical  expression 
on  his  fine  face  as  he  replied,  with  the  barest  glance  at 
Mademoiselle  Antoinette :  — 

"  I  trust  you  have  been  —  well  entertained,  Mr.  Temple. 
My  daughter  has  been  accustomed  only  to  the  society  of 
her  brother  and  cousins." 


EETRIBUTION  415 

"  Faith,  I  should  not  have  supposed  it,"  said  Nick,  in 
stantly,  a  remark  which  caused  the  color  to  flush  deeply 
into  Mademoiselle's  face.  I  looked  to  see  Monsieur  de 
St.  Gr£  angry.  He  tried,  indeed,  to  be  grave,  but  smiled 
irresistibly  as  he  mounted  the  steps  to  greet  his  wife,  who 
stood  demurely  awaiting  his  caress.  And  in  this  interval 
Mademoiselle  shot  at  Nick  a  swift  and  withering  look  as 
she  passed  him.  He  returned  a  grimace. 

"  Messieurs,"  said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,  turning  to  us, 
"  dinner  will  soon  be  ready  —  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to 
pardon  me  until  then." 

Nick  followed  Mademoiselle  with  his  eyes  until  she  had 
disappeared  beyond  the  hall.  She  did  not  so  much  as 
turn.  Then  he  took  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me  to  a  bench 
under  a  magnolia  a  little  distance  away,  where  he  seated 
himself,  and  looked  up  at  me  despairingly. 

"Behold,"  said  he,  "what  was  once  your  friend  and 
cousin,  your  counsellor,  sage,  and  guardian.  Behold  the 
clay  which  conducted  you  hither,  with  the  heart  neatly 
but  painfully  extracted.  Look  upon  a  woman's  work, 
Davy,  and  shun  the  sex.  I  tell  you  it  is  better  to  go 
blindfold  through  life,  to  have  —  pardon  me  —  your  own 
blunt  features,  than  to  be  reduced  to  such  a  pitiable  state. 
Was  ever  such  a  refinement  of  cruelty  practised  before  ? 
Never  !  Was  there  ever  such  beauty,  such  archness,  such 
coquetry,  —  such  damned  elusiveness  ?  Never  !  If  there 
is  a  cargo  going  up  the  river,  let  me  be  salted  and  lie  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  I'll  warrant  you  I'll  not  come  to  life." 

"  You  appear  to  have  suffered  somewhat,"  I  said,  forget 
ting  for  the  moment  in  my  laughter  the  thing  that  weighed 
upon  my  mind. 

"  Suffered  !  "  he  cried ;  "  I  have  been  tossed  high  in  the 
azure  that  I  might  sink  the  farther  into  the  depths.  I 
have  been  put  in  a  grave,  the  earth  stamped  down,  resur 
rected,  and  flung  into  the  dust-heap.  I  have  been  taken 
up  to  the  gate  of  heaven  and  dropped  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  through  darkness.  Since  I  have  seen  you  I  have 
been  the  round  of  all  the  bright  places  and  all  the  bottom 
less  pits  in  the  firmament." 


416  THE  CROSSING 

"  It  seems  to  have  made  you  literary,"  I  remarked 
judicially. 

"  I  burn  up  twenty  times  a  day,"  he  continued,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand  to  express  the  completeness  of  the 
process  ;  "  there  is  nothing  left.  I  see  her,  I  speak  to  her, 
and  I  burn  up." 

"  Have  you  had  many  tete-d-t^tes  ?  "     I  asked. 

"  Not  one,"  he  retorted  fiercely  ;  "  do  you  think  there 
is  any  sense  in  the  damnable  French  custom  ?  I  am  an 
honorable  man,  and,  besides,  I  am  not  equipped  for  an 
elopement.  No  priest  in  Louisiana  would  marry  us.  I 
see  her  at  dinner,  at  supper.  Sometimes  we  sew  on  the 
gallery,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I  give  you  my  oath  that  I  have 
not  had  one  word  with  her  alone." 

"  An  oath  is  not  necessary,"  I  said.  "  But  you  seem  to 
have  made  some  progress  nevertheless." 

"  Do  you  call  that  progress  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"It  is  surely  not  retrogression." 

"  God  knows  what  it  is,"  said  Nick,  helplessly,  "  but 
it's  got  to  stop.  I  have  sent  her  an  ultimatum." 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  summons.  Her  father  and  mother  are  going  to  the 
Bertrands'  to-night,  and  I  have  written  her  a  note  to  meet 
me  in  the  garden.  And  you,"  he  cried,  rising  and 
slapping  me  between  the  shoulders,  "you  are  to  keep 
watch,  like  the  dear,  careful,  canny,  sly  rascal  you 
are." 

"  And  —  and  has  she  accepted  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  That's  the  deuce  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  she  has  not.  But  I 
think  she'll  come." 

I  stood  for  a  moment  regarding  him. 

"  And  you  really  love  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Have  I  not  exhausted  the  language  ?  "  he  answered. 
"  If  what  I  have  been  through  is  not  love,  then  may  the 
Lord  shield  me  from  the  real  disease." 

"  It  may  have  been  merely  a  light  case  of  —  tropical 
enthusiasm,  let  us  say.  I  have  seen  others,  a  little 
milder  because  the  air  was  more  temperate." 


EETKIBUTION  417 

"  Tropical  —  balderdash,"  he  exploded.  "  If  you  are 
not  the  most  exasperating,  unfeeling  man  alive  —  " 

"  I  merely  wanted  to  know  if  you  wished  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre,"  I  interrupted. 

He  gave  me  a  look  of  infinite  tolerance. 

"  Have  I  not  made  it  plain  that  I  cannot  live  with 
out  her  ? "  he  said ;  "  if  not,  I  will  go  over  it  all 
again." 

"  That  will  not  be  necessary,"  I  said  hastily. 

"  The  trouble  may  be,"  he  continued,  "  that  they  have 
already  made  one  of  their  matrimonial  contracts  with  a 
Granpre,  a  Beausejour,  a  Bernard." 

"  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  is  a  very  sensible  man,"  I 
answered.  "He  loves  his  daughter,  and  I  doubt  if  he 
would  force  her  to  marry  against  her  will.  Tell  me,  Nick," 
I  asked,  laying  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  do  you  love 
this  girl  so  much  that  you  would  let  nothing  come  between 
you  and  her  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  I  do  ;  and  again  I  tell  you,  I  do,"  he  replied. 
He  paused,  suddenly  glancing  at  my  face,  and  added, 
"  Why  do  you  ask,  Davy  ?  " 

I  stood  irresolute,  now  that  the  time  had  come  not  dar 
ing  to  give  voice  to  my  suspicions.  He  had  not  spoken 
to  me  of  his  mother  save  that  once,  and  I  had  no  means 
of  knowing  whether  his  feeling  for  the  girl  might  not 
soften  his  anger  against  her.  I  have  never  lacked  the 
courage  to  come  to  the  point,  but  there  was  still  the 
chance  that  I  might  be  mistaken  in  this  after  all.  Would 
it  not  be  best  to  wait  until  I  had  ascertained  in  some  way 
the  identity  of  Mrs.  Olive  ?  And  while  I  stood  debating, 
Nick  regarding  me  with  a  puzzled  expression,  Monsieur 
de  St.  Gre  appeared  on  the  gallery. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  he  cried  ;  "dinner  awaits  us." 

The  dining  room  at  Les  lies  was  at  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  its  windows  looked  out  on  the  gallery,  which 
was  shaded  at  that  place  by  dense  foliage.  The  room, 
like  others  in  the  house,  seemed  to  reflect  the  decorous 
character  of  its  owner.  Two  St.  Gres,  indifferently 
painted,  but  rigorous  and  respectable,  relieved  the  white- 


418  THE  CEOSSING 

ness  of  the  wall.  They  were  the  Commissary-general 
and  his  wife.  The  lattices  were  closed  on  one  side,  and 
in  the  deep  amber  light  the  family  silver  shone  but  dimly. 
The  dignity  of  our  host,  the  evident  ceremony  of  the  meal, 
—  which  was  attended  by  three  servants,  —  would  have 
awed  into  a  modified  silence  at  least  a  less  irrepressible 
person  than  Nicholas  Temple.  But  Nick  was  one  to  carry 
by  storm  a  position  which  another  might  wait  to  recon 
noitre.  The  first  sensation  of  our  host  was  no  doubt 
astonishment,  but  he  was  soon  laughing  over  a  vivid  ac 
count  of  our  adventures  on  the  keel  boat.  Nick's  imitation 
of  Xavier,  and  his  description  of  Benjy's  terrors  after  the 
storm,  were  so  perfect  that  I  laughed  quite  as  heartily  ; 
and  Madame  de  St.  Gre  wiped  her  eyes  and  repeated 
continually,  "  Quel  drole  monsieur  !  it  is  thus  he  has  enter 
tained  us  since  thou  departed,  Philippe." 

As  for  Mademoiselle,  I  began  to  think  that  Nick  was 
not  far  wrong  in  his  diagnosis.  Training  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  it.  She  would  not  laugh,  not  she, 
but  once  or  twice  she  raised  her  napkin  to  her  face  and 
coughed  slightly.  For  the  rest,  she  sat  demurely,  with 
her  eyes  on  her  plate,  a  model  of  propriety.  Nick's  suf 
ferings  became  more  comprehensible. 

To  give  the  devil  his  due,  Nick  had  an  innate  tact  which 
told  him  when  to  stop,  and  perhaps  at  this  time  Mademoi 
selle's  superciliousness  made  him  subside  the  more  quickly. 
After  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  had  explained  to  me  the  horrors 
of  the  indigo  pest  and  the  futility  of  sugar  raising,  he 
turned  to  his  daughter. 

"  'Toinette,  where  is  Madame  Clive  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  looked  up,  startled  into  life  and  interest  at  once. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  she  cried  in  French,  "  we  are  so  worried 
about  her,  mamma  and  I.  It  was  the  day  you  went  away, 
the  day  these  gentlemen  came,  that  we  thought  she  would 
take  an  airing.  And  suddenly  she  became  worse." 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  turned  with  concern  to  his  wife. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  Philippe,"  said  that  lady  ; 
"  it  seems  to  be  mental.  The  loss  of  her  husband  weighs 
upon  her,  poor  lady.  But  this  is  worse  than  ever,  and  she 


KETRIBUTION  419 

will  lie  for  hours  with  her  face  turned  to  the  wall,  and  not 
even  Antoinette  can  arouse  her." 

"  I  have  always  been  able  to  comfort  her  before,"  said 
Antoinette,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

I  took  little  account  of  what  was  said  after  that,  my 
only  notion  being  to  think  the  problem  out  for  myself, 
and  alone.  As  I  was  going  to  my  room  Nick  stopped  me. 

"  Come  into  the  garden,  Davy,"  he  said. 

"  When  I  have  had  my  siesta,"  I  answered. 

"When  you  have  had  your  siesta!"  he  cried;  "since 
when  did  you  begin  to  indulge  in  siestas?" 

"  To-day,"  I  replied,  and  left  him  staring  after  me. 

I  reached  my  room,  bolted  the  door,  and  lay  down  on 
my  back  to  think.  Little  was  needed  to  convince  me 
now  that  Mrs.  Clive  was  Mrs.  Temple,  and  thus  the  lady's 
relapse  when  she  heard  that  her  son  was  in  the  house  was 
accounted  for.  Instead  of  forming  a  plan,  my  thoughts 
drifted  from  that  into  pity  for  her,  and  my  memory  ran 
back  many  years  to  the  text  of  good  Mr.  Mason's  sermon, 
"  I  have  refined  thee,  but  not  with  silver,  I  have  chosen 
thee  in  the  furnace  of  affliction."  What  must  Sarah 
Temple  have  suffered  since  those  days  !  I  remembered 
her  in  her  prime,  in  her  beauty,  in  her  selfishness,  in  her 
cruelty  to  those  whom  she  might  have  helped,  and  I  won 
dered  the  more  at  the  change  which  must  have  come  over 
the  woman  that  she  had  won  the  affections  of  this  family, 
that  she  had  gained  the  untiring  devotion  of  Mademoiselle 
Antoinette.  Her  wit  might  not  account  for  it,  for  that 
had  been  cruel.  And  something  of  the  agony  of  the 
woman's  soul  as  she  lay  in  torment,  facing  the  wall,  think 
ing  of  her  son  under  the  same  roof,  of  a  life  misspent 
and  irrevocable,  I  pictured. 

A  stillness  crept  into  the  afternoon  like  the  stillness  of 
night.  The  wide  house  was  darkened  and  silent,  and 
without  a  sunlight  washed  with  gold  filtered  through  the 
leaves.  There  was  a  drowsy  hum  of  bees,  and  in  the  dis 
tance  the  occasional  languishing  note  of  a  bird  singing 
what  must  have  been  a  cradle-son,  .  My  mind  wandered, 
and  shirked  the  task  that  was  set  t )  it. 


420  THE  CROSSING 

Could  anything  be  gained  by  meddling  ?  I  had  begun 
to  convince  myself  that  nothing  could,  when  suddenly  I 
came  face  to  face  with  the  consequences  of  a  possible  mar 
riage  between  Nick  and  Mademoiselle  Antoinette.  In 
that  event  the  disclosure  of  his  mother's  identity  would 
be  inevitable.  Not  only  his  happiness  was  involved,  but 
Mademoiselle's,  her  father's  and  her  mother's,  and  lastly 
that  of  this  poor  hunted  woman  herself,  who  thought  at 
last  to  have  found  a  refuge. 

An  hour  passed,  and  it  became  more  and  more  evident 
to  me  that  I  must  see  and  talk  with  Mrs.  Temple.  But 
how  \ras  I  to  communicate  with  her?  At  last  I  took  out 
my  portfolio  and  wrote  these  words  on  a  sheet :  — 

"  If  Mrs.  Olive  ivill  consent  to  a  meeting  tvith  Mr.  David 
Ritchie  he  will  deem  it  a  favor.  Mr.  Ritchie  assures  Mrs. 
Olive  that  he  makes  this  request  in  all  friendliness." 

I  lighted  a  candle,  folded  the  note  and  sealed  it,  ad 
dressed  it  to  Mrs.  Clive,  and  opening  the  latticed  door  I 
stepped  out.  Walking  along  the  gallery  until  I  came  to 
the  rear  part  of  the  house  which  faced  towards  the  out 
buildings,  I  spied  three  figures  prone  on  the  grass  under 
a  pecan  tree  that  shaded  the  kitchen  roof.  One  of  these 
figures  was  Benjy,  and  he  was  taking  his  siesta.  I  de 
scended  quietly  from  the  gallery,  and  making  my  way  to 
him,  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  awoke  and  stared 
at  me  with  white  eyes. 

"  Marse  Dave  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Hush,"  I  answered,  "  and  follow  me." 

He  came  after  me,  wondering,  a  little  way  into  the  grove, 
where  I  stopped. 

"Benjy,"  I  said,  "do  you  know  any  of  the  servants 
here?" 

"  Lawsy,  Marse  Dave,  I  reckon  I  knows  'em,  —  some  of 
'em,"  he  answered  with  a  grin. 

"You  talk  to  them?" 

"  Shucks,  no,  Marse  Dave,"  he  replied  with  a  fine  scorn, 
"  I  ain't  no  hand  at  dat  ir  nigger  French.  But  I  knows 
some  on  'em,  and  right  /ell  too." 

"  How?  "  I  demand*  i  curiously. 


EETKIBUTION  421 

Benjy  looked  down  sheepishly  at  his  feet.  He  was 
standing  pigeon-toed. 

"  I  done  c'ressed  some  on  'em,  Marse  Dave,"  he  said  at 
length,  and  there  was  a  note  of  triumph  in  his  voice. 

"  You  did  what?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  done  kissed  one  of  dem  yaller  gals,  Marse  Dave. 
Yass'r,  I  done  kissed  M'lisse." 

"Do  you  think  Melisse  would  do  something  for  you  if 
you  asked  her?  "  I  inquired. 

Benjy  seemed  hurt. 

"  Marse  Dave  —  "  he  began  reproachfully. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  I  interrupted,  taking  the  letter  from 
my  pocket,  "  there  is  a  lady  who  is  ill  here,  Mrs.  Clive  —  " 

I  paused,  for  a  new  look  had  come  into  Benjy's  eyes. 
He  began  that  peculiar,  sympathetic  laugh  of  the  negro, 
which  catches  and  doubles  on  itself,  and  I  imagined  that 
a  new  admiration  for  me  dawned  on  his  face. 

"  Yass'r,  yass,  Marse  Dave,  I  reckon  M'lisse  '11  git  it  to 
her  'thout  any  one  tekin'  notice." 

I  bit  my  lips. 

"If  Mrs.  Clive  receives  this  within  an  hour,  Melisse 
shall  have  one  piastre,  and  you  another.  There  is  an 
answer." 

Benjy  took  the  note,  and  departed  nimbly  to  find  Me 
lisse,  while  I  paced  up  and  down  in  my  uneasiness  as  to 
the  outcome  of  the  experiment.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed,  half  an  hour,  and  then  I  saw  Benjy  coming  through 
the  trees.  He  stood  before  me,  chuckling,  and  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  folded  piece  of  paper.  I  gave  him  the  two 
piastres,  warned  him  if  his  master  or  any  one  inquired  for 
me  that  I  was  taking  a  walk,  and  bade  him  begone. 
Then  I  opened  the  note. 

"  I  will  meet  you  at  the  bayou  at  seven  this  evening.  Take 
the  path  that  leads  through  the  garden." 

I  read  it  with  a  catch  of  the  breath,  with  a  certainty 
that  the  happiness  of  many  people  depended  upon  what 
I  should  say  at  that  meeting.  And  to  think  of  this  and 
to  compose  myself  a  little,  I  made  my  way  to  the  garden 
in  search  of  the  path,  that  I  might  know  it  when  the  time 


422  THE  CROSSING 

came.  Entering  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  I  caught  sight  of  the 
shaded  seat  under  the  tree  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
our  first  meeting  with  Antoinette,  and  I  hurried  past  it 
as  I  crossed  the  garden.  There  were  two  openings  in  the 
opposite  hedge,  the  one  through  which  Nick  and  I  had 
eome,  and  another.  I  took  the  second,  and  with  little 
difficulty  found  the  path  of  which  the  note  had  spoken. 
It  led  through  a  dense,  semi-tropical  forest  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  swamp  beyond,  the  way  being  well  beaten,  but 
here  and  there  jealously  crowded  by  an  undergrowth  of 
brambles  and  the  prickly  Spanish  bayonet.  I  know  not 
how  far  I  had  walked,  my  head  bent  in  thought,  before  I 
felt  the  ground  teetering  under  my  feet,  and  there  was  the 
bayou.  It  was  a  narrow  lane  of  murky,  impenetrable 
water,  shaded  now  by  the  forest  wall.  Imaged  on  its 
amber  surface  were  the  twisted  boughs  of  the  cypresses 
of  the  swamp  beyond,  —  boughs  funereally  draped,  as 
though  to  proclaim  a  warning  of  unknown  perils  in  the 
dark  places.  On  that  side  where  I  stood  ancient  oaks 
thrust  their  gnarled  roots  into  the  water,  and  these  knees 
were  bridged  by  treacherous  platforms  of  moss.  As  I 
sought  for  a  safe  resting-place  a  dull  splash  startled  me, 
the  pink-and-white  water  lilies  danced  on  the  ripples, 
and  a  long,  black  snout  pushed  its  way  to  the  centre  of 
the  bayou  and  floated  there  motionless. 

I  sat  down  on  a  wide  knee  that  seemed  to  be  fashioned 
for  the  purpose,  and  reflected.  It  may  have  been  about 
half-past  five,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that,  rather  than 
return  and  risk  explanations,  I  would  wait  where  I  was 
until  Mrs.  Temple  appeared.  I  had  much  to  think  of, 
and  for  the  rest  the  weird  beauty  of  the  place,  with  its 
changing  colors  as  the  sun  fell,  held  me  in  fascination. 
When  the  blue  vapor  stole  through  the  cypress  swamp, 
my  trained  ear  caught  the  faintest  of  warning  sounds. 
Mrs.  Temple  was  coming. 

I  could  not  repress  the  exclamation  that  rose  to  my  lips 
when  she  stood  before  me. 

"  I  have  changed  somewhat,"  she  began  quite  calmly ; 
"I  have  changed  since  you  were  at  Temple  Bow." 


EETRIBUTION  423 

I  stood  staring  at  her,  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  by 
these  words  she  sought  to  gain  an  advantage.  I  knew 
not  whether  to  pity  or  to  be  angry,  such  a  strange  blend 
ing  she  seemed  of  former  pride  and  arrogance  and  later 
suffering.  There  were  the  features  of  the  beauty  still, 
the  eyes  defiant,  the  lips  scornful.  Sorrow  had  set  its 
brand  upon  this  protesting  face  in  deep,  violet  marks 
under  the  eyes,  in  lines  which  no  human  power  could 
erase :  sorrow  had  flecked  with  white  the  gold  of  the 
hair,  had  proclaimed  her  a  woman  with  a  history.  For 
she  had  a  new  and  remarkable  beauty  which  puzzled  and 
astonished  me, — a  beauty  in  which  maternity  had  no  place. 
The  figure,  gowned  with  an  innate  taste  in  black,  still  kept 
the  rounded  lines  of  the  young  woman,  while  about  the 
shoulders  and  across  the  open  throat  a  lace  mantilla  was 
thrown.  She  stood  facing  me,  undaunted,  and  I  knew 
that  she  had  come  to  fight  for  what  was  left  her.  I  knew 
further  that  she  was  no  mean  antagonist. 

"  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  to  what  circumstance  I  owe 
the  honor  of  this  —  summons,  Mr.  Ritchie  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  You  are  a  travelled  person  for  one  so  young.  I  might 
almost  say,"  she  added  with  an  indifferent  laugh,  "that 
there  is  some  method  and  purpose  in  your  travels." 

"  Indeed,  you  do  me  wrong,  Madame,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  am 
here  by  the  merest  chance." 

Again  she  laughed  lightly,  and  stepping  past  me  took 
her  seat  on  the  oak  from  which  I  had  risen.  I  marvelled 
that  this  woman,  with  all  her  self-possession,  could  be  the 
same  as  she  who  had  held  her  room,  cowering,  these  four 
days  past.  Admiration  for  her  courage  mingled  with  my 
other  feelings,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  knew  not  where  to 
begin.  My  experience  with  women  of  the  world  was, 
after  all,  distinctly  limited.  Mrs.  Temple  knew,  appar 
ently  by  intuition,  the  advantage  she  had  gained,  and  she 
smiled. 

"  The  Ritchies  were  always  skilled  in  dealing  with  sin 
ners,"  she  began ;  "  the  first  earl  had  the  habit  of  hunting 
them  like  foxes,  so  it  is  said.  I  take  it  for  granted  that, 
before  my  sentence  is  pronounced,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 


424  THE   CROSSING 

of  hearing  my  wrong-doings  in  detail.  I  could  not  ask 
you  to  forego  that  satisfaction." 

"  You  seem  to  know  the  characteristics  of  my  family, 
Mrs.  Temple,"  I  answered.  "  There  is  one  trait  of  the 
Ritchies  concerning  which  I  ask  your  honest  opinion." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  she  said  carelessly. 

"  I  have  always  understood  that  they  have  spoken  the 
truth.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

She  glanced  at  me  curiously. 

"  I  never  knew  your  father  to  lie,"  she  answered ;  "  but 
after  all  he  had  few  chances.  He  so  seldom  spoke." 

"  Your  intercourse  with  me  at  Temple  Bow  was  quite 
as  limited,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,"  she  interrupted  quickly,  "  you  bear  me  that 
grudge.  It  is  another  trait  of  the  Ritchies." 

"I  bear  you  no  grudge,  Madame,"  I  replied.  "I  asked 
you  a  question  concerning  the  veracity  of  my  family,  and 
I  beg  that  you  will  believe  what  I  say." 

"And  what  is  this  momentous  statement?"  she  asked. 

I  had  hard  work  to  keep  my  temper,  but  I  knew  that  I 
must  not  lose  it. 

"  I  declare  to  you  on  my  honor  that  my  business  in  New 
Orleans  in  no  way  concerns  you,  and  that  I  had  not  the 
slightest  notion  of  finding  you  here.  Will  you  believe 
that?" 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  also  declare  to  you  that,  since  meeting  your  son,  my 
chief  anxiety  has  been  lest  he  should  run  across  you." 

"  You  are  very  considerate  of  others,"  she  said.  "  Let 
us  admit  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  you  come  here  by 
accident." 

It  was  the  opening  I  had  sought  for,  but  despaired  of 
getting. 

"  Then  put  yourself  for  a  moment  in  my  place,  Madame, 
and  give  me  credit  for  a  little  kindliness  of  feeling,  and  a 
sincere  affection  for  your  son." 

There  was  a  new  expression  on  her  face,  and  the  light 
of  a  supreme  effort  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  give  you  credit  at  least  for  a  logical  mind,"  she 


EETRIBUTION  425 

answered.  "In  spite  of  myself  you  have  put  me  at  the 
bar  and  seem  to  be  conducting  my  trial." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  there  should  be  any  rancor  between 
us,"  I  answered.  "It  is  true  that  I  hated  you  at  Temple 
Bow.  When  my  father  was  killed  and  I  was  left  a  home 
less  orphan  you  had  no  pity  for  me,  though  your  husband 
was  my  mother's  brother.  But  you  did  me  a  good  turn 
after  all,  for  you  drove  me  out  into  a  world  where  I  learned 
to  rely  upon  myself.  Furthermore,  it  was  not  in  your 
nature  to  treat  me  well." 

"Not  in  my  nature?  "  she  repeated. 

"  You  were  seeking  happiness,  as  every  one  must  in 
their  own  way.  That  happiness  lay,  apparently,  with 
Mr.  Riddle."' 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  with  a  catch  of  her  breath,  "  I  thought 
you  would  be  judging  me." 

"  I  am  stating  facts.  Your  son  was  a  sufficient  embar 
rassment  in  this  matter,  and  I  should  have  been  an  addi 
tional  one.  I  blame  you  not,  Mrs.  Temple,  for  anything 
you  have  done  to  me,  but  I  blame  you  for  embittering 
Nick's  life." 

"And  he?  ''  she  said.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  detected 
a  faltering  in  her  voice. 

"  I  will  hide  nothing  from  you.  He  blames  you,  with 
what  justice  I  leave  you  to  decide." 

She  did  not  answer  this,  but  turned  her  head  away 
towards  the  bayou.  Nor  could  I  determine  what  was  in 
her  mind. 

"  And  now  I  ask  you  whether  I  have  acted  as  your  friend 
in  begging  you  to  meet  me." 

She  turned  to  me  swiftly  at  that. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  see  how  there  can  be  friendship  between 
us,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said. 

"Very  good  then,  Madame;  I  am  sorry,"  I  answered. 
"  I  have  done  all  that  is  in  my  power,  and  now  events  will 
have  to  take  their  course." 

I  had  not  gone  two  steps  into  the  wood  before  I  heard 
her  voice  calling  my  name.  She  had  risen,  and  leaned 
with  her  hand  against  the  oak. 


426  THE   CEOSSING 

"  Does  Nick  —  know  that  you  are  here  ?  "  she  cried. 

"No,"  I  answered  shortly.  Then  I  realized  suddenly 
what  I  had  failed  to  grasp  before, — she  feared  that  I 
would  pity  her. 

"David!" 

I  started  violently  at  the  sound  of  my  name,  at  the  new 
note  in  her  voice,  at  the  change  in  the  woman  as  I 
turned.  And  then  before  I  realized  what  she  had  done 
she  had  come  to  me  swiftly  and  laid  her  hand  upon 
my  arm. 

"  David,  does  he  hate  me  ?  " 

All  the  hope  remaining  in  her  life  was  in  that  question, 
was  in  her  face  as  she  searched  mine  with  a  terrible  scru 
tiny.  And  never  had  I  known  such  an  ordeal.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  could  not  answer,  and  as  I  stood  staring  back  at  her 
a  smile  was  forced  to  her  lips. 

"I  will  pay  you  one  tribute,  my  friend,"  she  said;  "you 
are  honest." 

But  even  as  she  spoke  I  saw  her  sway,  and  though  I 
could  not  be  sure  it  were  not  a  dizziness  in  me,  I  caught 
her.  I  shall  always  marvel  at  the  courage  there  was  in 
her,  for  she  straightened  and  drew  away  from  me  a  little 
proudly,  albeit  gently,  and  sat  down  on  the  knee  of  the 
oak,  looking  across  the  bayou  towards  the  mist  of  the 
swamp.  There  was  the  infinite  calmness  of  resignation  in 
her  next  speech. 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  she  said. 

She  was  changed  indeed.  Were  it  not  so  I  should  have 
heard  of  her  own  sufferings,  of  her  poor,  hunted  life  from 
place  to  place,  of  countless  nights  made  sleepless  by  the 
past.  Pride  indeed  was  left,  but  the  fire  had  burned  away 
the  last  vestige  of  selfishness. 

I  sat  down  beside  her,  knowing  full  well  that  I  should 
be  judged  by  what  I  said.  She  listened,  motionless,  though 
something  of  what  that  narrative  cost  her  I  knew  by  the 
current  of  sympathy  that  ran  now  between  us.  Unmarked, 
the  day  faded,  a  new  light  was  spread  over  the  waters,  the 
mist  was  spangled  with  silver  points,  the  Spanish  moss 
took  on  the  whiteness  of  lace  against  the  black  forest- 


EETRIBUTION  427 

swamp,  and  on  the  yellow  face  of  the  moon  the  star-shaped 
leaves  of  a  gum  were  printed. 

At  length  I  paused.  She  neither  spoke,  nor  moved  — 
save  for  the  rising  and  falling  of  her  shoulders.  The 
hardest  thing  I  had  to  say  I  saved  for  the  last,  and  I  was 
near  lacking  the  courage  to  continue. 

"  There  is  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  —  "I  began,  and 
stopped,  —  she  turned  on  me  so  quickly  and  laid  a  hand 
on  mine. 

"  Nick  loves  her !  "  she  cried. 

"  You  know  it !  "  I  exclaimed,  wondering. 

"  Ah,  David,"  she  answered  brokenly,  "  I  foresaw  it 
from  the  first.  I,  too,  love  the  girl.  No  human  being 
has  ever  given  me  such  care  and  such  affection.  She  — 
she  is  all  that  I  have  left.  Must  I  give  her  up  ?  Have 
I  not  paid  the  price  of  my  sins  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer,  knowing  that  she  saw  the  full  cruelty 
of  the  predicament.  What  happiness  remained  to  her 
now  of  a  battered  life  stood  squarely  in  the  way  of  her 
son's  happiness.  That  was  the  issue,  and  no  advice  or 
aid  of  mine  could  change  it.  There  was  another  silence 
that  seemed  to  me  an  eternity  as  I  watched,  a  helpless 
witness,  the  struggle  going  on  within  her.  At  last  she 
got  to  her  feet,  her  face  turned  to  the  shadow. 

"  I  will  go,  David,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  low  and 
she  spoke  with  a  steadiness  that  alarmed  me.  "I  will 
go." 

Torn  with  pity,  I  thought  again,  but  I  could  see  no 
alternative.  And  then,  suddenly,  she  was  clinging  to  me, 
her  courage  gone,  her  breast  shaken  with  sobs.  "  Where 
shall  I  go  ?  "  she  cried.  "  God  help  me  !  Are  there  no 
remote  places  where  He  will  not  seek  me  out  ?  I  have 
tried  them  all,  David."  And  quite  as  suddenly  she  dis 
engaged  herself,  and  looked  at  me  strangely.  "  You  are 
well  revenged  for  Temple  Bow,"  she  said. 

"  Hush,"  I  answered,  and  held  her,  fearing  I  knew  not 
what,  "  you  have  not  lacked  courage.  It  is  not  so  bad  as 
you  believe.  I  will  devise  a  plan  and  help  you.  Have 
you  money  ?  " 


428  THE  CEOSSING 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  remnant  of  her  former 
pride ;  "and  I  have  an  annuity  paid  now  to  Mr.  Clark." 

"  Then  listen  to  what  I  say,"  I  answered.  "  To-night 
I  will  take  you  to  New  Orleans  and  hide  you  safely.  And 
I  swear  to  you,  whether  it  be  right  or  wrong,  that  I  will 
use  every  endeavor  to  change  Nick's  feelings  towards  you. 
Come,"  I  continued,  leading  her  gently  into  the  path, 
"let  us  go  while  there  is  yet  time." 

"  Stop,"  she  said,  and  I  halted  fearfully.  "  David 
Ritchie,  you  are  a  good  man.  I  can  make  no  amends  to 
you,"  —  she  did  not  finish. 

Feeling  for  the  path  in  the  blackness  of  the  wood,  I 
led  her  by  the  hand,  arid  she  followed  me  as  trustfully 
as  a  child.  At  last,  after  an  age  of  groping,  the  heavy 
scents  of  shrubs  and  flowers  stole  to  us  on  the  night  air, 
and  we  came  out  at  the  hedge  into  what  seemed  a  blaze 
of  light  that  flooded  the  rows  of  color.  Here  we  paused, 
breathless,  and  looked.  The  bench  under  the  great  tree 
was  vacant,  and  the  garden  was  empty. 

It  was  she  who  led  the  way  through  the  hedge,  who 
halted  in  the  garden  path  at  the  sound  of  voices.  She 
turned,  but  there  was  no  time  to  flee,  for  the  tall  figure  of 
a  man  came  through  the  opposite  hedge,  followed  by  a 
lady.  One  was  Nicholas  Temple,  the  other,  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Gre.  Mrs.  Temple's  face  alone  was  in  the  shadow, 
and  as  I  felt  her  hand  trembling  on  my  arm  I  summoned 
all  my  resources.  It  was  Nick  who  spoke  first. 

"  It  is  Davy !  "  he  cried.  "  Oh,  the  sly  rascal  !  And 
this  is  the  promenade  of  which  he  left  us  word,  the  soli 
tary  meditation  !  Speak  up,  man ;  you  are  forgiven  for 
deserting  us." 

He  turned,  laughing,  to  Mademoiselle.  But  she  stood 
with  her  lips  parted  and  her  hands  dropped,  staring  at  my 
companion.  Then  she  took  two  steps  forward  and  stopped 
with  a  cry. 

"  Mrs.  Clive  !  " 

The  woman  beside  me  turned,  and  with  a  supreme 
courage  raised  her  head  and  faced  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  Antoinette,  it  is  I,"  she  answered. 


RETEIBUTION  429 

And  then  my  eyes  sought  Nick,  for  Mrs.  Temple  had 
faced  her  son  with  a  movement  that  was  a  challenge,  yet 
with  a  look  that  questioned,  yearned,  appealed.  He,  too, 
stared,  the  laughter  fading  from  his  eyes,  tirst  astonishment, 
and  then  anger,  growing  in  them,  slowly,  surely.  I  shall 
never  forget  him  as  he  stood  there  (for  what  seemed  an 
age)  recalling  one  by  one  the  wrongs  this  woman  had  done 
him.  She  herseli  had  taught  him  to  brook  no  restraint, 
to  follow  impetuously  his  loves  and  hates,  and  endurance 
in  these  things  was  moulded  in  every  line  of  his  finely  cut 
features.  And  when  he  spoke  it  was  not  to  her,  but  to 
the  girl  at  his  side. 

"  Do  you  know  who  this  is  ?  "  he  said.  "  Tell  me,  do 
you  know  this  woman  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre  did  not  answer  him.  She 
drew  near,  gently,  to  Mrs.  Temple,  whose  head  was 
bowed,  whose  agony  I  could  only  guess. 

"  Mrs.  Olive,"  she  said  softly,  though  her  voice  was 
shaken  by  a  prescience,  "  won't  you  tell  me  what  has  hap 
pened?  Won't  you  speak  to  me  —  Antoinette?  " 

The  poor  lady  lifted  up  her  arms,  as  though  to  embrace 
the  girl,  dropped  them  despairingly,  and  turned  away. 

"  Antoinette,"  she  murmured,  "  Antoinette  !  " 

For  Nick  had  seized  Antoinette  by  the  hand,  restraining 
her. 

"You  do  not  know  what  you  are  doing?"  he  cried 
angrily.  "  Listen  !  " 

I  had  stood  bereft  of  speech,  watching  the  scene  breath 
lessly.  And  now  I  would  have  spoken  had  not  Made 
moiselle  astonished  me  by  taking  the  lead.  I  have  thought 
since  that  I  might  have  pieced  together  this  much  of  her 
character.  Her  glance  at  Nick  surprised  him  momen 
tarily  into  silence. 

"  I  know  that  she  is  my  dearest  friend,"  she  said,  "  that 
she  came  to  us  in  misfortune,  and  that  we  love  her  and 
trust  her.  I  do  not  know  why  she  is  here  with  Mr. 
Ritchie,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  for  some  good  reason."  She 
laid  a  hand  on  Mrs.  Temple's  shoulder.  "Mrs.  Clive, 
won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 


430  THE  CROSSING 

"  My  God,  Antoinette,  listen !  "  cried  Nick ;  "  Mrs.  Clive 
is  not  her  name.  I  know  her,  David  knows  her.  She  is 
an  —  adventuress  !  " 

Mrs.  Temple  gave  a  cry,  and  the  girl  shot  at  him  a 
frightened,  bewildered  glance,  in  which  a  new-born  love 
struggled  with  an  older  affection. 

"  An  adventuress !  "  she  repeated,  her  hand  dropping, 
"oh,  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  cannot  believe  it." 

"  You  shall  believe  it,"  said  Nick,  fiercely.  "  Her  name 
is  not  Clive.  Ask  David  what  her  name  is." 

Antoinette's  lips  moved,  but  she  shirked  the  question. 
And  Nick  seized  me  roughly. 

"  Tell  her,"  he  said,  "  tell  her  !  My  God,  how  can  I  do 
it?  Tell  her,  David." 

For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  frame  the  speech  at 
once,  my  pity  and  a  new-found  and  surprising  respect 
for  her  making  it  doubly  hard  to  pronounce  her  sentence. 
Suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  not  proudly,  but  with  a 
dignity  seemingly  conferred  by  years  of  sorrow  and  of 
suffering.  Her  tones  were  even,  bereft  of  every  vestige 
of  hope. 

"  Antoinette,  I  have  deceived  you,  though  as  God  is  my 
witness,  I  thought  no  harm  could  come  of  it.  I  deluded 
myself  into  believing  that  I  had  found  friends  and  a  refuge 
at  last.  I  am  Mrs.  Temple." 

"  Mrs.  Temple  !  "  The  girl  repeated  the  name  sorrow 
fully,  but  perplexedly,  not  grasping  its  full  significance. 

"  She  is  my  mother,"  said  Nick,  with  a  bitterness  I  had 
not  thought  in  him,  "  she  is  my  mother,  or  I  would  curse 
her.  For  she  has  ruined  my  life  and  brought  shame  on  a 
good  name." 

He  paused,  his  breath  catching  for  very  anger.  Mrs. 
Temple  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  girl  shrank 
back  in  terror.  I  grasped  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Have  you  no  compassion?  "  I  cried.  But  Mrs.  Temple 
interrupted  me. 

"  He  has  the  right,"  she  faltered ;  "  it  is  my  just  punish 
ment." 

He  tore  himself  away,  and  took  a  step  to  her. 


RETRIBUTION  431 

is  Riddle  ?  "  he  cried.  "  As  God  lives,  I  will 
kill  him  without  mercy  !  " 

His  mother  lifted  her  head  again. 

"  God  has  judged  him,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  he  is  beyond 
your  vengeance  —  he  is  dead."  A  sob  shook  her,  but  she 
conquered  it  with  a  marvellous  courage.  "  Harry  Riddle 
loved  me,  he  was  kind  to  me,  and  he  was  a  better  man  than 
John  Temple." 

Nick  recoiled.  The  fierceness  of  his  anger  seemed  to 
go,  leaving  a  more  dangerous  humor. 

"  Then  I  have  been  blessed  with  parents,"  he  said. 

At  that  she  swayed,  but  when  I  would  have  caught  her 
she  motioned  me  away  and  turned  to  Antoinette.  Twice 
Mrs.  Temple  tried  to  speak. 

"I  —  I  was  going  away  to-night,"  she  said  at  length, 
"and  you  would  never  have  seen  or  heard  of  me  more. 
My  nephew  David — Mr.  Ritchie — whom  I  treated  cruelly 
as  a  boy,  had  pity  on  me.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  he  was 
to  have  taken  me  away  —  I  do  not  attempt  to  defend  my 
self,  my  dear,  but  I  pray  that  you,  who  have  so  much  char 
ity,  will  some  day  think  a  little  kindly  of  one  who  has  sinned 
deeply,  of  one  who  will  love  and  bless  you  and  yours  to  her 
dying  day." 

She  faltered,  and  Nick  would  have  spoken  had  not 
Antoinette  herself  stayed  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  I  wish — my  son  to  know  the  little  there  is  on  my  side. 
It  is  not  much.  Yet  God  may  not  spare  him  the  sorrow 
that  brings  pity.  I  —  I  loved  Harry  Riddle  as  a  girl. 
My  father  was  ruined,  and  I  was  forced  into  marriage  with 
John  Temple  for  his  possessions.  He  was  selfish,  over 
bearing,  cruel — unfaithful.  During  the  years  I  lived 
with  him  he  never  once  spoke  kindly  to  me.  I,  too,  grew 
wicked  and  selfish  and  heedless.  My  head  was  turned  by 
admiration.  Mr.  Temple  escaped  to  England  in  a  man- 
of-war  ;  he  left  me  without  a  line  of  warning,  of  farewell. 
I  —  I  have  wandered  over  the  earth,  haunted  by  remorse, 
and  I  knew  no  moment  of  peace,  of  happiness,  until  you 
brought  me  here  and  sheltered  and  loved  me.  And  even 
here  I  have  had  many  sleepless  hours.  A  hundred  times 


432  THE  CROSSING 

I  have  summoned  my  courage  to  tell  you,  —  I  could  not. 
I  am  justly  punished,  Antoinette."  She  moved  a  little, 
timidly,  towards  the  girl,  who  stood  motionless,  dazed  by 
what  she  heard.  She  held  out  a  hand,  appealingly,  and 
dropped  it.  "  Good-by,  my  dear  ;  God  will  bless  you  for 
your  kindness  to  an  unfortunate  outcast." 

She  glanced  with  a  kind  of  terror  in  her  eyes  from  the 
girl  to  Nick,  and  what  she  me°nt  to  say  concerning  their 
love  I  know  not,  for  the  flood,  held  back  so  long,  burst 
upon  her.  She  wept  as  I  have  never  seen  a  woman  weep. 
And  then,  before  Nick  or  I  knew  what  had  happened, 
Antoinette  had  taken  her  swiftly  in  her  arms  and  was 
murmuring  in  her  ear :  — • 

"  You  shall  not  go.  You  shall  not.  You  will  live  with 
me  always." 

Presently  the  sobs  ceased,  and  Mrs.  Temple  raised  her 
face,  slowly,  wonderingly,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  aright. 
And  she  tried  gently  to  push  the  girl  away. 

"  No,  Antoinette,"  she  said,  "  I  have  done  you  harm 
enough." 

But  the  girl  clung  to  her  strongly,  passionately.  "  I 
do  not  care  what  you  have  done,"  she  cried,  "you  are 
good  now.  I  know  that  you  are  good  now.  I  will  not 
cast  you  out.  I  will  not." 

I  stood  looking  at  them,  bewildered  and  astonished  by 
Mademoiselle's  loyalty.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
Nick,  as  had  I,  and  then  as  I  turned  to  him  he  came  to 
wards  them.  Almost  roughly  he  took  Antoinette  by  the 
arm. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying,"  he  cried. 
"  Come  away,  Antoinette,  you  do  not  know  what  she  has 
done  —  you  cannot  realize  what  she  is." 

Antoinette  shrank  away  from  him,  still  clinging  to 
Mrs.  Temple.  There  was  a  fearless  directness  in  her 
look  which  might  have  warned  him. 

"  She  is  your  mother,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  My  mother  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  yes,  I  will  tell  you  what 
a  mother  she  has  been  to  me  —  " 

"  Nick ! " 


RETRIBUTION  433 

It  passes  my  power  to  write  down  the  pity  of  that  appeal, 
the  hopelessness  of  it,  the  yearning  in  it.  Freeing  her 
self  from  the  girl,  Mrs.  Temple  took  one  step  towards 
him,  her  arms  held  up.  I  had  not  thought  that  his  hatred 
of  her  was  deep  enough  to  resist  it.  It  was  Antoinette 
whose  intuition  divined  this  ere  he  had  turned  away. 

"  You  have  chosen  between  me  and  her,"  he  said  ;  and 
before  we  could  get  the  poor  lady  to  the  seat  under  the 
oak,  he  had  left  the  garden.  In  my  perturbation  I  glanced 
at  Antoinette,  but  there  was  no  other  sign  in  her  face  save 
of  tenderness  for  Mrs.  Temple. 

Mrs.  Temple  had  mercifully  fainted.  As  I  crossed  the 
lawn  I  saw  two  figures  in  the  deep  shadow  beside  the 
gallery,  and  I  heard  Nick's  voice  giving  orders  to  Benjy 
to  pack  and  saddle.  When  I  reached  the  garden  again 
the  girl  had  loosed  Mrs.  Temple's  gown,  and  was  bending 
over  her,  murmuring  in  her  ear. 

******* 

Many  hours  later,  when  the  moon  was  waning  towards 
the  horizon,  fearful  of  surprise  by  the  coming  day,  I  was 
riding  slowly  under  the  trees  on  the  road  to  New  Orleans. 
Beside  me,  veiled  in  black,  her  head  bowed,  was  Mrs.  Tem 
ple,  and  no  word  had  escaped  her  since  she  had  withdrawn 
herself  gently  from  the  arms  of  Antoinette  on  the  gallery 
at  Les  lies.  Nick  had  gone  long  before.  The  hardest 
task  had  been  to  convince  the  girl  that  Mrs.  Temple 
might  not  stay.  After  that  Antoinette  had  busied  her 
self,  with  a  silent  fortitude  I  had  not  thought  was  in  her, 
making  ready  for  the  lady's  departure.  I  shall  never  for 
get  her  as  she  stood,  a  slender  figure  of  sorrow,  looking 
down  at  us,  the  tears  glistening  on  her  cheeks.  And  I 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  mount  the  steps  once  more. 

"  You  were  right,  Antoinette,"  I  whispered  ;  "  whatever 
happens,  you  will  remember  that  I  am  your  friend.  And 
I  will  bring  him  back  to  you  if  I  can." 

She  pressed  my  hand,  and  turned  and  went  slowly  into 
the  house. 


BOOK  III 
LOUISIANA 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  EIGHTS   OF  MAN 

WERE  these  things  which  follow  to  my  thinking  not  ex 
traordinary,  I  should  not  write  them  down  here,  nor  should 
I  have  presumed  to  skip  nearly  five  years  of  time.  For 
indeed  almost  five  years  had  gone  by  since  the  warm  sum 
mer  night  when  I  rode  into  New  Orleans  with  Mrs.  Temple. 
And  in  all  that  time  I  had  not  so  much  as  laid  eyes  on  my 
cousin  and  dearest  friend,  her  son.  I  searched  New 
Orleans  for  him  in  vain,  and  learned  too  late  that  he  had 
taken  passage  on  a  packet  which  had  dropped  down  the 
river  the  next  morning,  bound  for  Charleston  and  New 
York. 

I  have  an  instinct  that  this  is  not  the  place  to  relate  in 
detail  what  occurred  to  me  before  leaving  New  Orleans. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  made  my  way  back  through  the 
swamps,  the  forests,  the  cane-brakes  of  the  Indian  country, 
along  the  Natchez  trail  to  Nashville,  across  the  barrens  to 
Harrodstown  in  Kentucky,  where  I  spent  a  week  in  that 
cabin  which  had  so  long  been  for  me  a  haven  of  refuge. 
Dear  Polly  Ann  !  She  hugged  me  as  though  I  were  still 
the  waif  whom  she  had  mothered,  and  wept  over  the  little 
presents  which  I  had  brought  the  children.  Harrodstown 
was  changed,  new  cabins  and  new  faces  met  me  at  every 
turn,  and  Tom,  more  disgruntled  than  ever,  had  gone 
a-hunting  with  Mr.  Boone  far  into  the  wilderness. 

I  went  back  to  Louisville  to  take  up  once  more  the 
struggle  for  practice,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  charge  so 

434 


THE  EIGHTS   OF  MAN  435 

much  as  a  page  with,  what  may  be  called  the  even  tenor 
of  my  life.  I  was  not  a  man  to  get  into  trouble  on  my 
own  account.  Louisville  grew  amazingly;  white  frame 
houses  were  built,  and  even  brick  ones.  And  ere  Ken 
tucky  became  a  State,  in  1792,  I  had  gone  as  delegate  to 
more  than  one  of  the  Danville  Conventions. 

Among  the  nations,  as  you  know,  a  storm  raged,  and  the 
great  swells  from  that  conflict  threatened  to  set  adrift  and 
wreck  the  little  republic  but  newly  launched.  The  noise 
of  the  tramping  of  great  armies  across  the  Old  World  shook 
the  New,  and  men  in  whom  the  love  of  fierce  fighting  was 
born  were  stirred  to  quarrel  among  themselves.  The 
Rights  of  Man  !  How  many  wrongs  have  been  done 
under  that  clause  !  The  Bastille  stormed;  the  Swiss  Guard 
slaughtered  ;  the  Reign  of  Terror,  with  its  daily  proces 
sion  of  tumbrels  through  the  streets  of  Paris ;  the  murder 
of  that  amiable  and  well-meaning  gentleman  who  did  his 
best  to  atone  for  the  sins  of  his  ancestors  ;  the  fearful 
months  of  waiting  suffered  by  his  Queen  before  she,  too, 
went  to  her  death.  Often  as  I  lighted  my  candle  of  an 
evening  in  my  little  room  to  read  of  these  things  so  far 
away,  I  would  drop  my  Kentucky  Gazette  to  think  of  a 
woman  whose  face  I  remembered,  to  wonder  sadly  whether 
Helene  de  St.  Gre  were  among  the  lists.  In  her,  I  was 
sure,  was  personified  that  courage  for  which  her  order  will 
go  down  eternally  through  the  pages  of  history,  and  in  my 
darker  moments  I  pictured  her  standing  beside  the  guillo 
tine  with  a  smile  that  haunted  me. 

The  hideous  image  of  that  strife  was  reflected  amongst 
our  own  people.  Budget  after  budget  was  hurried  by  the 
winds  across  the  sea.  And  swift  couriers  carried  the  news 
over  the  Blue  Wall  by  the  Wilderness  Trail  (widened 
now),  and  thundered  through  the  little  villages  of  the 
Blue  Grass  country  to  the  Falls.  What  interest,  you  will 
say,  could  the  pioneer  lawyers  and  storekeepers  and 
planters  have  in  the  French  Revolution?  The  Rights  of 
Man  !  Down  with  kings  !  General  Washington  and  Mr. 
Adams  and  Mr.  Hamilton  might  sigh  for  them,  but  they 
were  not  for  the  free-born  pioneers  of  the  West.  Citizen 


436  THE  CROSSING 

was  the  proper  term  now,  —  Citizen  General  Wilkinson 
when  that  magnate  came  to  town,  resplendent  in  his  brig 
adier's  uniform.  It  was  thought  that  Mr.  Wilkinson 
would  plot  less  were  he  in  the  army  under  the  watchful 
eye  of  his  superiors.  Little  they  knew  him  !  Thus  the 
Republic  had  a  reward  for  adroitness,  for  treachery,  and 
treason.  But  what  reward  had  it  for  the  lonely,  embit 
tered,  stricken  man  whose  genius  and  courage  had  gained 
for  it  the  great  Northwest  territory  ?  What  reward  had 
the  Republic  for  him  who  sat  brooding  in  his  house  above 
the  Falls  —  for  Citizen  General  Clark? 

In  those  days  you  were  not  a  Federalist  or  a  Democrat, 
you  were  an  Aristocrat  or  a  Jacobin.  The  French  parties 
were  our  parties  ;  the  French  issue,  our  issue.  Under  the 
patronage  of  that  saint  of  American  Jacobinism,  Thomas 
Jefferson,  a  Jacobin  society  was  organized  in  Philadelphia, 
—  special  guardians  of  Liberty.  And  flying  on  the 
March  winds  over  the  raountaint,  the  seed  fell  on  the  black 
soil  of  Kentucky  :  Lexington  had  its  Jacobin  society, 
Danville  and  Louisville  likewise  their  patrons  and  pro 
tectors  of  the  Rights  of  Mankind.  Federalists  were  not 
guillotined  in  Kentucky  in  the  summer  of  1793,  but  I 
might  mention  more  than  one  who  was  shot. 

In  spite  of  the  Federalists,  Louisville  prospered,  and 
incidentally  I  prospered  in  a  mild  way.  Mr.  Crede,  behind 
whose  store  I  still  lived,  was  getting  rich,  and  happened 
to  have  an  affair  of  some  importance  in  Philadelphia.  Mr. 
Wharton  was  kind  enough  to  recommend  a  young  lawyer 
who  had  the  following  virtues  :  he  was  neither  handsome 
nor  brilliant,  and  he  wore  snuff-colored  clothes.  Mr. 
Wharton  also  did  me  the  honor  to  say  that  I  was  cautious 
and  painstaking,  and  had  a  habit  of  tiring  out  my  adversary. 
Therefore,  in  the  early  summer  of  1793,  I  went  to  Phila 
delphia.  At  that  time,  travellers  embarking  on  such  a 
journey  were  prayed  over  as  though  they  were  going  to 
Tartary.  I  was  absent  from  Louisville  near  a  year,  and 
there  is  a  diary  of  what  I  saw  and  felt  and  heard  on  this 
trip  for  the  omission  of  which  I  will  be  thanked.  The 
great  news  of  that  day  which  concerns  the  world  —  and 


THE  EIGHTS  OF  MAN  437 

incidentally  this  story — was  that  Citizen  Genet  had  landed 
at  Charleston. 

Citizen  Genet,  Ambassador  of  the  great  Republic  of 
France  to  the  little  Republic  of  America,  landed  at 
Charleston,  acclaimed  by  thousands,  and  lost  no  time. 
Scarcely  had  he  left  that  city  ere  American  privateers  had 
slipped  out  of  Charleston  harbor  to  prey  upon  the  com 
merce  of  the  hated  Mistress  of  the  Sea.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  march  of  triumph  as  that  of  the  Citizen  Ambassa 
dor  northward  to  the  capital  ?  Everywhere  toasted  and 
feasted,  Monsieur  Genet  did  not  neglect  the  Rights  of 
Man,  for  without  doubt  the  United  States  was  to  declare 
war  on  Britain  within  a  fortnight.  Nay,  the  Citizen 
Ambassador  would  go  into  the  halls  of  Congress  and 
declare  war  himself  if  that  faltering  Mr.  Washington  re 
fused  his  duty.  Citizen  Genet  organized  his  legions  as  he 
went  along,  and  threw  tricolored  cockades  from  the  win 
dows  of  his  carriage.  And  at  his  glorious  entry  into 
Philadelphia  (where  I  afterwards  saw  the  great  man  with 
my  own  eyes),  Mr.  Washington  and  his  Federal- Aristocrats 
trembled  in  their  boots. 

It  was  late  in  April,  1794,  when  I  reached  Pittsburg  on 
my  homeward  journey  and  took  passage  down  the  Ohio 
with  a  certain  Captain  Wendell  of  the  army,  in  a  Ken 
tucky  boat.  I  had  known  the  Captain  in  Louisville,  for 
he  had  been  stationed  at  Fort  Finney,  the  army  post 
across  the  Ohio  from  that  town,  and  he  had  come  to  Pitts- 
burg  with  a  sergeant  to  fetch  down  the  river  some  dozen 
recruits.  This  was  a  most  fortunate  circumstance  for  me, 
and  in  more  ways  than  one.  Although  the  Captain  was  a 
gruff  and  blunt  man,  grizzled  and  weather-beaten,  a 
woman-hater,  he  could  be  a  delightful  companion  when 
once  his  confidence  was  gained ;  and  as  we  drifted  in  the 
mild  spring  weather  through  the  long  reaches  between  the 
passes  he  talked  of  Trenton  and  Brandywine  and  York- 
town.  There  was  more  than  one  bond  of  sympathy  be 
tween  us,  for  he  worshipped  Washington,  detested  the 
French  party,  and  had  a  hatred  for  "  filthy  Democrats  " 
second  to  none  I  have  ever  encountered. 


438  THE  CKOSSING 

We  stopped  for  a  few  days  at  Fort  Harmar,  where  the 
Muskingum  pays  its  tribute  to  the  Ohio,  built  by  the 
Federal  government  to  hold  the  territory  which  Clark 
had  won.  And  leaving  that  hospitable  place  we  took  up 
our  journey  once  more  in  the  very  miracle-time  of  the 
spring.  The  sunlight  was  like  amber-crystal,  the  tall 
cottonwoods  growing  by  the  water-side  flaunted  a  proud 
glory  of  green,  the  hills  behind  them  that  formed  the  first 
great  swells  of  the  sea  of  the  wilderness  were  clothed  in  a 
thousand  sheens  and  shaded  by  the  purple  budding  of  the 
oaks  and  walnuts  on  the  northern  slopes.  On  the  yellow 
sandbars  flocks  of  geese  sat  pluming  in  the  sun,  or  rose  at 
our  approach  to  cast  fleeting  shadows  on  the  water,  their 
honk-honks  echoing  from  the  hills.  Here  and  there  a  hawk 
swooped  down  from  the  azure  to  break  the  surface  and 
bear  off  a  wriggling  fish  that  gleamed  like  silver,  and  at 
eventide  we  would  see  at  the  brink  an  elk  or  doe,  with 
head  poised,  watching  us  as  we  drifted.  We  passed  here 
and  there  a  lonely  cabin,  to  set  my  thoughts  wandering 
backwards  to  my  youth,  and  here  and  there  in  the  dimples 
of  the  hills  little  clusters  of  white  and  brown  houses,  one 
day  to  become  marts  of  the  Republic. 

My  joy  at  coming  back  at  this  golden  season  to  a  country 
I  loved  was  tempered  by  news  I  had  heard  from  Captain 
Wendell,  and  which  I  had  discussed  with  the  officers  at 
Fort  Harmar.  The  Captain  himself  had  broached  the 
subject  one  cool  evening,  early  in  the  journey,  as  we  sat 
over  the  fire  in  our  little  cabin.  He  had  been  telling  me 
about  Brandywine,  but  suddenly  he  turned  to  me  with  a 
kind  of  fierce  gesture  that  was  natural  to  the  man. 

"  Ritchie,"  he  said,  "  you  were  in  the  Revolution  your 
self.  You  helped  Clark  to  capture  that  country,"  and  he 
waved  his  hand  towards  the  northern  shore ;  "  why  the 
devil  don't  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  never  asked  me,"  I  answered. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  ask  you  now." 

I  began  lamely  enough,  but  presently  my  remembrance 
of  the  young  man  who  conquered  all  obstacles,  who  com- 


THE  EIGHTS  OF  MAN  439 

pelled  all  men  he  met  to  follow  and  obey  him,  carried  me 
strongly  into  the  narrative.  I  remembered  him,  quiet, 
self-contained,  resourceful,  a  natural  leader,  at  twenty-five 
a  bulwark  for  the  sorely  harried  settlers  of  Kentucky ; 
the  man  whose  clear  vision  alone  had  perceived  the  value 
of  the  country  north  of  the  Ohio  to  the  Republic,  who  had 
compelled  the  governor  and  council  of  Virginia  to  see  it 
likewise.  Who  had  guarded  his  secret  from  all  men,  who 
in  the  face  of  fierce  opposition  and  intrigue  had  raised  a 
little  army  to  follow  him — they  knew  not  where.  Who 
had  surprised  Kaskaskia,  cowed  the  tribes  of  the  North  in 
his  own  person,  and  by  sheer  force  of  will  drew  after  him 
and  kept  alive  a  motley  crowd  of  men  across  the  floods 
and  through  the  ice  to  Vincennes. 

We  sat  far  into  the  night,  the  Captain  listening  as  I 
had  never  seen  a  man  listen.  And  when  at  length  I  had 
finished  he  was  for  a  long  time  silent,  and  then  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  with  an  oath  that  woke  the  sleeping  soldiers 
forward  and  glared  at  me. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  it  is  enough  to  make  a  man 
curse  his  uniform  to  think  that  such  a  man  as  Wilkinson 
wears  it,  while  Clark  is  left  to  rot,  to  drink  himself  under 
the  table  from  disappointment,  to  plot  with  the  damned 
Jacobins  —  " 

"  To  plot !  "  I  cried,  starting  violently  in  my  turn. 

The  Captain  looked  at  me  in  astonishment. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  away  from  Louisville  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  It  will  be  a  year,"  I  answered. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Captain,  "  I  will  tell  you.  It  is  more 
than  a  year  since  Clark  wrote  Genet,  since  the  Ambassa 
dor  bestowed  on  him  a  general's  commission  in  the  army 
of  the  French  Republic." 

"  A  general's  commission  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  And  he  is 
going  to  France  ?  "  The  nation  which  had  driven  John 
Paul  Jones  from  its  service  was  now  to  lose  George  Rogers 
Clark  ! 

"  To  France  !  "  laughed  the  Captain.  "  No,  this  is 
become  France  enough.  He  is  raising  in  Kentucky 


THE  CROSSING 

and  in  the  Cumberland  country  an  army  with  a  cursed, 
high-sounding  name.  Some  of  his  old  Illinois  scouts — • 
McChesney,  whom  you  mentioned,  for  one  —  have  been 
collecting  bear's  meat  and  venison  hams  all  winter.  They 
are  going  to  march  on  Louisiana  and  conquer  it  for  the 
French  Republic,  for  Liberty,  Equality — the  Rights  of 
Man,  anything  you  like." 

"On  Louisiana!"  I  repeated;  "what  has  the  Federal 
government  been  doing  ?  " 

The  Captain  winked  at  me  and  sat  down. 

"  The  Federal  government  is  supine,  a  laughing-stock  — 
so  our  friends  the  Jacobins  say,  who  have  been  shouting 
at  Mr.  Easton's  tavern  all  winter.  Nay,  they  declare  that 
all  this  country  west  of  the  mountains,  too,  will  be  broken 
off  and  set  up  into  a  republic,  and  allied  with  that 
most  glorious  of  all  republics,  France.  Believe  me,  the 
Jacobins  have  not  been  idle,  and  there  have  been  strange- 
looking  birds  of  French  plumage  dodging  between  the 
General's  house  at  Clarksville  and  the  Bear  Grass." 

I  was  silent,  the  tears  almost  forcing  themselves  to  my 
eyes  at  the  pathetic  sordidness  of  what  I  had  heard. 

"  It  can  come  to  nothing,"  continued  the  Captain,  in  a 
changed  voice.  "  General  Clark's  mind  is  unhinged  by  — 
disappointment.  Mad  Anthony J  is  not  a  man  to  be  caught 
sleeping,  and  he  has  already  attended  to  a  little  expedition 
from  the  Cumberland.  Mad  Anthony  loves  the  General, 
as  we  all  do,  and  the  Federal  government  is  wiser  than 
the  Jacobins  think.  It  may  not  be  necessary  to  do  any 
thing."  Captain  Wendell  paused,  and  looked  at  me 
fixedly.  "  Ritchie,  General  Clark  likes  you,  and  you 
have  never  offended  him.  Why  not  go  to  his  little  house 
in  Clarksville  when  you  get  to  Louisville  and  talk  to  him 
plainly,  as  I  know  you  can?  Perhaps  you  might  have 
some  influence." 

I  shook  my  head  sadly. 

"I  intend  to  go,"  I  answered,  "but  I  will  have  no 
influence." 

1  General  Wayne  of  Kevolutionary  fame  was  then  in  command  of  that 
district. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS 

IT  was  May-day,  and  shortly  after  dawn  we  slipped  into 
the  quiet  water  which  is  banked  up  for  many  miles  above 
the  Falls.  The  Captain  and  I  sat  forward  on  the  deck, 
breathing  deeply  the  sharp  odor  which  comes  from  the  wet 
forest  in  the  early  morning,  listening  to  the  soft  splash  of 
the  oars,  and  watching  the  green  form  of  Eighteen  Mile 
Island  as  it  gently  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  And  ere  the 
sun  had  risen  greatly  we  had  passed  Twelve  Mile  Island, 
and  emerging  from  the  narrow  channel  which  divides  Six 
Mile  Island  from  the  northern  shore,  we  beheld,  on  its 
terrace  above  the  Bear  Grass,  Louisville  shining  white  in 
the  morning  sun.  Majestic  in  its  mile  of  width,  calm,  as 
though  gathering  courage,  the  river  seemed  to  straighten 
for  the  ordeal  to  come,  and  the  sound  of  its  waters 
crying  over  the  rocks  far  below  came  faintly  to  my  ear 
and  awoke  memories  of  a  day  gone  by.  Fearful  of  the 
suck,  we  crept  along  the  Indian  shore  until  we  counted 
the  boats  moored  in  the  Bear  Grass,  and  presently  above 
the  trees  on  our  right  we  saw  the  Stars  and  Stripes  floating 
from  the  log  bastion  of  Fort  Finney.  And  below  the  fort, 
on  the  gentle  sunny  slope  to  the  river's  brink,  was  spread 
the  green  garden  of  the  garrison,  with  its  sprouting  vege 
tables  and  fruit  trees  blooming  pink  and  white. 

We  were  greeted  by  a  company  of  buff  and  blue  officers 
at  the  landing,  and  I  was  bidden  to  breakfast  at  their 
mess,  Captain  Wendell  promising  to  take  me  over  to 
Louisville  afterwards.  He  had  business  in  the  town,  and 
about  eight  of  the  clock  we  crossed  the  wide  river  in  one 
of  the  barges  of  the  fort  and  made  fast  at  the  landing  in 
the  Bear  Grass.  But  no  sooner  had  we  entered  the  town 

441 


442  THE   CROSSING 

than  we  met  a  number  of  country  people  on  horseback 
with  their  wives  and  daughters  —  ay,  and  sweethearts  — 
perched  up  behind  them  :    the  men  mostly  in  butternu. 
linsey  hunting  shirts  and  trousers,  slouch  hats,  and  re<> 
handkerchiefs  stuck  into  their  bosoms  ;  the  women  mar 
vellously  pretty  and  fresh  in  stiff  cotton  gowns  and  Quake* 
hats,  and  some  in  crimped  caps  with  ribbons  neatly  tied 
under  the  chin.     Before  Mr.  Easton's  tavern  Joe  Handy, 
the  fiddler,  was  reeling  off  a  few  bars  of  "  Hey,  Betty  Mar 
tin"  to  the  familiar  crowd  of  loungers  under  the  big  poplar. 

"  It's  Davy  Ritchie  !  "  shouted  Joe,  breaking  off  in  the 
middle  of  the  tune ;  "  welcome  home,  Davy.  Ye're  jest  in 
time  for  the  barbecue  on  the  island." 

"  And  Cap  Wendell !  Howdy,  Cap  !  "  drawled  another, 
a  huge,  long-haired,  sallow,  dirty  fellow.  But  the  Captain 
only  glared. 

"  Damn  him  !  "  he  said,  after  I  had  spoken  to  Joe  and 
we  had  passed  on,  "  he  ought  to  be  barbecued;  he  nearly 
bit  off  Ensign  Barry's  nose  a  couple  of  months  ago. 
Barry  tried  to  stop  the  beast  in  a  gouging  fight." 

The  bright  morning,  the  shady  streets,  the  homelike 
frame  and  log  houses,  the  old-time  fragrant  odor  of  corn- 
pone  wafted  out  of  the  open  doorways,  the  warm  greetings, 
—  all  made  me  happy  to  be  back  again.  Mr.  Crede  rushed 
out  and  escorted  us  into  his  cool  store,  and  while  he 
waited  on  his  country  customers  bade  his  negro  brew  a 
bowl  of  toddy,  at  the  mention  of  which  Mr.  Bill  Whalen, 
chief  habitue,  roused  himself  from  a  stupor  on  a  tobacco 
barrel.  Presently  the  customers,  having  indulged  in  the 
toddy,  departed  for  the  barbecue,  the  Captain  went  to  the 
fort,  and  Mr.  Crede  and  myself  were  left  alone  to  talk 
over  the  business  which  had  sent  me  to  Philadelphia. 

At  four  o'clock,  having  finished  my  report  and  dined 
with  my  client,  I  set  out  for  Clarksville,  for  Mr.  Crede 
had  told  me,  among  other  things,  that  the  General  was 
there.  Louisville  was  deserted,  the  tavern  porch  vacant ; 
but  tacked  on  the  logs  beside  the  door  was  a  printed  bill 
which  drew  my  curiosity.  I  stopped,  caught  by  a  familiar 
name  in  large  type  at  the  head  of  it. 


THE   HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS  443 

"GEORGE   R.    CLARK,   ESQUIRE, 

"  MAJOR-GENERAL     IN    THE    ARMIES     OF     FRANCE    AND 

COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF   OF   THE   FRENCH   REV 
OLUTIONARY   LEGION   ON   THE 
MISSISSIPPI   RIVER. 

"PROPOSALS 

"For  raising  volunteers  for  the  reduction  of  the  Spanish 
posts  on  the  Mississippi,  for  opening  the  trade  of  the  said  river 
and  giving  freedom  to  all  its  inhabitants  —  " 

I  had  got  so  far  when  I  heard  a  noise  of  footsteps  within, 
and  Mr.  Easton  himself  came  out,  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

"  By  cricky,  Davy,"  said  he,  "  I'm  right  glad  ter  see  ye 
ag'in.  Readin'  the  General's  bill,  are  ye  ?  Tarnation,  I 
reckon  Washington  and  all  his  European  fellers  east  of 
the  mountains  won't  be  able  ter  hold  us  back  this  time. 
I  reckon  we'll  gallop  over  Louisiany  in  the  face  of  all  the 
Spaniards  ever  created.  I've  got  some  new  whiskey  I  'low 
will  sink  tallow.  Come  in,  Davy." 

As  he  took  me  by  the  arm,  a  laughter  and  shouting 
came  from  the  back  room. 

"  It's  some  of  them  Frenchy  fellers  come  over  from 
Knob  Licks.  They're  in  it,"  and  he  pointed  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder  to  the  proclamation,  "and  thar's  one 
young  American  among  'em  who's  a  t'arer.  Come  in." 

I  drank  a  glass  of  Mr.  Easton's  whiskey,  and  asked 
about  the  General. 

"  He  stays  over  thar  to  Clarksville  pretty  much,"  said 
Mr.  Easton.  "  Thar  ain't  quite  so  much  walkin'  araound 
ter  do,"  he  added  significantly. 

I  made  my  way  down  to  the  water-side,  where  Jake 
Landrasse  sat  alone  on  the  gunwale  of  a  Kentucky  boat, 
smoking  a  clay  pipe  as  he  fished.  I  had  to  exercise  per 
suasion  to  induce  Jake  to  paddle  me  across,  which  he 
finally  agreed  to  do  on  the  score  of  old  friendship,  and  he 
declared  that  the  only  reason  he  was  not  at  the  barbecue 
was  because  he  was  waiting  to  take  a  few  gentlemen  to 
see  General  Clark.  I  agreed  to  pay  the  damages  if  he 


444  THE  CROSSING 

were  late  in  returning  for  these  gentlemen,  and  soon  he 
was  shooting  me  with  pulsing  strokes  across  the  lake-like 
expanse  towards  the  landing  at  Fort  Finney.  Louisville 
and  the  fort  were  just  above  the  head  of  the  Falls,  and 
the  little  town  of  Clarksville,  which  Clark  had  founded, 
at  the  foot  of  them.  I  landed,  took  the  road  that  led 
parallel  with  the  river  through  the  tender  green  of  the 
woods,  and  as  I  walked  the  mighty  song  which  the  Falls 
had  sung  for  ages  to  the  Wilderness  rose  higher  and 
higher,  and  the  faint  spray  seemed  to  be  wafted  through 
the  forest  and  to  hang  in  the  air  like  the  odor  of  a  sum 
mer  rain. 

It  was  May-day.  The  sweet,  caressing  note  of  the 
thrush  mingled  with  the  music  of  the  water,  the  dogwood 
and  the  wild  plum  were  in  festal  array;  but  my  heart  was 
heavy  with  thinking  of  a  great  man  who  had  cheapened 
himself.  At  length  I  came  out  upon  a  clearing  where 
fifteen  log  houses  marked  the  grant  of  the  Federal  gov 
ernment  to  Clark's  regiment.  Perched  on  a  tree-dotted 
knoll  above  the  last  spasm  of  the  waters  in  their  two-mile 
race  for  peace,  was  a  two-storied  log  house  with  a  little, 
square  porch  in  front  of  the  door.  As  I  rounded  the 
corner  of  the  house  and  came  in  sight  of  the  porch  I  halted 

—  by  no  will  of  my  own  —  at  the  sight  of  a  figure  sunken 
in  a  wooden  chair.     It  was  that  of  my  old  Colonel.     His 
hands  were  folded  in  front  of  him,  his  eyes  were  fixed  but 
dimly  on  the  forests  of   the  Kentucky  shore  across   the 
water;  his  hair,  uncared  for,  fell  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
faded  blue  coat,  and  the  stained  buff  waistcoat  was  un 
buttoned.     For  he  still  wore  unconsciously  the  colors  of 
the  army  of  the  American  Republic. 

"General!"  I  said. 

He  started,  got  to  his  feet,  and  stared  at  me. 

"  Oh,  it's  —  it's  Davy,"  he  said.     "I  —  I  was  expecting 

—  some    friends  —  Davy.      What  —  what's    the    matter. 
Davy  ?  " 

"I  have  been  away.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again, 
General." 

"  Citizen  General,  sir,  Major-general  in  the  army  of  the 


THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS  445 

French  Republic  and  Commander-in-chief  of  the  French 
Revolutionary  Legion  on  the  Mississippi." 

"You  will  always  be  Colonel  Clark  to  me,  sir,"  I 
answered. 

"  You  —  you  were  the  drummer  boy,  I  remember,  and 
strutted  in  front  of  the  regiment  as  if  you  were  the  colonel. 
Egad,  I  remember  how  you  fooled  the  Kaskaskians  when 
you  told  them  we  were  going  away."  He  looked  at  me, 
but  his  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  point  beyond.  "  You 
were  always  older  than  I,  Davy.  Are  you  married  ?  " 

In  spite  of  myself,  I  laughed  as  I  answered  this  question. 

"  You  are  as  canny  as  ever,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand 
on  my  shoulder.  "  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,  —  they 
are  only  possible  for  the  bachelor."  Hearing  a  noise,  he 
glanced  nervously  in  the  direction  of  the  woods,  only  to 
perceive  his  negro  carrying  a  pail  of  water.  "I  —  I  was 
expecting  some  friends,"  he  said.  "  Sit  down,  Davy." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  intruding,  General,"  I  said,  not  dar 
ing  to  look  at  him. 

"  No,  no,  my  son,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  always  wel 
come.  Did  we  not  campaign  together  ?  Did  we  not  — 
shoot  these  very  falls  together  on  our  way  to  Kaskaskia?  " 
He  had  to  raise  his  voice  above  the  roar  of  the  water. 
"Faith,  well  I  remember  the  day.  And  you  saved  it, 
Davy,  —  you,  a  little  gamecock,  a  little  worldly-wise  hop- 
o'-my-thumb,  eh?  Hamilton's  scalp  hanging  by  a  lock, 
egad  —  and  they  frightened  out  of  their  five  wits  because 
it  was  growing  dark."  He  laughed,  and  suddenly  became 
solemn  again.  "  There  comes  a  time  in  every  man's  life 
when  it  grows  dark,  Davy,  and  then  the  cowards  are 
afraid.  They  have  no  friends  whose  hands  they  can  reach 
out  and  feel.  But  you  are  my  friend.  You  remember 
that  you  said  you  would  always  be  my  friend  ?  It  —  it 
was  in  the  fort  at  Vincennes." 

"  I  remember,  General." 

He  rose  from  the  steps,  buttoned  his  waistcoat,  and 
straightened  himself  with  an  effort.  He  looked  at  me 
impressively. 

"  You  have  been  a  good  friend  indeed,  Davy,  a  faithful 


446  THE  CKOSSING 

friend,"  he  said.  "  You  came  to  me  when  I  was  sick,  you 
lent  me  money,"  —  he  waved  aside  my  protest.  "I  am 
happy  to  say  that  I  shall  soon  be  in  a  position  to  repay 
you,  to  reward  you.  My  evil  days  are  over,  and  I  spurn 
that  government  which  spurned  me,  for  the  honor  and 
glory  of  which  I  founded  that  city," — he  pointed  in  the 
direction  of  Louisville,  —  "for  the  power  and  wealth  of 
which  I  conquered  this  Northwest  territory.  Listen !  I 
am  now  in  the  service  of  a  republic  where  the  people  have 
rights,  I  am  Commander-in-chief  of  the  French  Revolu 
tionary  Legion  on  the  Mississippi.  Despite  the  supineness 
of  Washington,  the  American  nation  will  soon  be  at  war 
with  Spain.  But  my  friends  —  and  thank  God  they  are 
many  —  will  follow  me  —  they  will  follow  me  to  Natchez 
and  New  Orleans, —  ay,  even  to  Santa  Fe  and  Mexico  if 
I  give  the  word.  The  West  is  with  me.  and  for  the  West 
I  shall  win  the  freedom  of  the  Mississippi.  For  Franca 
and  Liberty  I  shall  win  back  again  Louisiana,  and  then  I 
shall  be  a  MarSchal  de  Camp." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  a  man  who  had  not  been 
wont  to  speak  of  his  intentions,  who  had  kept  his  counsel 
for  a  year  before  Kaskaskia. 

"  I  need  my  drummer  boy,  Davy,"  he  said,  his  face 
lighting  up,  "  but  he  will  not  be  a  drummer  boy  now.  He 
will  be  a  trusted  officer  of  high  rank,  mind  you.  Come," 
he  cried,  seizing  me  by  the  arm,  "  I  will  write  the  com 
mission  this  instant.  But  hold  !  you  read  French,  —  I 
remember  the  day  Father  Gibault  gave  you  your  first 
lesson."  He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  drew  out  a  letter, 
and  handed  it  to  me.  "  This  is  from  Citizen  Michaux,  the 
famous  naturalist,  the  political  agent  of  the  French  Repub 
lic.  Read  what  he  has  written  me." 

I  read,  I  fear  in  a  faltering  voice :  — 

"  Citoyen  Gr£n£ral : 

"  Un  homme  qui  a  donnS  des  preuves  de  son  amour  pour  la 
LibertS  et  de  sa  haine  pour  le  despotisme  ne  devait  pas 
s'adresser  en  vain  au  ministre  de  la  RSpublique  franpaise. 
General)  il  est  temps  que  les  Americains  libres  de  T  Quest 
soient  dSbarass^s  d'un  ennemie  aussi  injuste  que  m^prisable." 


THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS  447 

When  I  had  finished  I  glanced  at  the  General,  but  he 
seemed  not  to  be  heeding  me.  The  sun  was  setting  above 
the  ragged  line  of  forest,  and  a  blue  veil  was  spreading  over 
the  tumbling  waters.  He  took  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me 
into  the  house,  into  a  bare  room  that  was  all  awry.  Maps 
hung  on  the  wall,  beside  them  the  General's  new  commis 
sion,  rudely  framed.  Among  the  littered  papers  on  the 
table  were  two  whiskey  bottles  and  several  glasses,  and 
strewn  about  were  a  number  of  chairs,  the  arms  of  which 
had  been  whittled  by  the  General's  guests.  Across  the 
rough  mantel-shelf  was  draped  the  French  tricolor,  and 
before  the  fireplace  on  the  puncheons  lay  a  huge  bearskin 
which  undoubtedly  had  not  been  shaken  for  a  year. 
Picking  up  a  bottle,  the  General  poured  out  generous 
helpings  in  two  of  the  glasses,  and  handed  one  to  me. 

"  The  mists  are  bad,  Davy,"  said  he ;  "I  —  I  cannot 
afford  to  get  the  fever  now.  Let  us  drink  success  to  the 
army  of  the  glorious  Republic,  France." 

"  Let  us  drink  first,  General,"  I  said,  "  to  the  old  friend 
ship  between  us." 

"  Good  !  "  he  cried.  Tossing  off  his  liquor,  he  set  down 
the  glass  and  began  what  seemed  a  fruitless  search  among 
the  thousand  papers  on  the  table.  But  at  length,  with  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction,  he  produced  a  form  and  held  it 
under  my  eyes.  At  the  top  of  the  sheet  was  that  much- 
abused  and  calumniated  lady,  the  Goddess  of  Liberty. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  drawing  up  a  chair  and  dipping  his 
quill  into  an  almost  depleted  ink-pot,  "  I  have  decided  to 
make  you,  David  Ritchie,  with  full  confidence  in  your 
ability  and  loyalty  to  the  rights  of  liberty  and  mankind, 
a  captain  in  the  Legion  on  the  Mississippi." 

I  crossed  the  room  swiftly,  and  as  he  put  his  pen  to 
paper  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  General,  I  cannot,"  I  said.  I  had  seen  from  the  first 
the  futility  of  trying  to  dissuade  him  from  the  expedition, 
and  I  knew  now  that  it  would  never  come  off.  I  was 
willing  to  make  almost  any  sacrifice  rather  than  offend  him, 
but  this  I  could  not  allow.  The  General  drew  himself  up 
in  his  chair  and  stared  at  me  with  a  flash  of  his  old  look. 


448  THE  CEOSSING 

"  You  cannot  ? "  he  repeated  ;  "  you  have  affairs  to 
attend  to,  I  take  it." 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  he  rode  me  down. 

"  There  is  money  to  be  made  in  that  prosperous  town  of 
Louisville."  He  did  not  understand  the  pain  which  his 
words  caused  me.  He  rose  and  laid  his  hands  affectionately 
on  my  shoulders.  "Ah,  Davy,  commerce  makes  a  man 
timid.  Do  you  forget  the  old  days  when  I  was  the 
father  and  you  the  son  ?  Come !  I  will  make  you  a 
fortune  undreamed  of,  and  you  shall  be  my  fianancier 
once  more." 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  the  money,  General,"  I  answered, 
"  and  I  have  always  been  ready  to  leave  my  business  to 
serve  a  friend." 

"  There,  there,"  said  the  General,  soothingly,  "  I  know 
it.  I  would  not  offend  you.  You  shall  have  the  commis 
sion,  and  you  may  come  when  it  pleases  you." 

He  sat  down  again  to  write,  but  I  restrained  him. 

"  I  cannot  go,  General,"  I  said. 

"  Thunder  and  fury,"  cried  the  General,  "  a  man  might 
think  you  were  a  weak-kneed  Federalist."  He  stared  at 
me,  and  stared  again,  and  rose  and  recoiled  a  step.  "  My 
God,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  be  a  Federalist,  you  can't  have 
marched  to  Kaskaskia  and  Vincennes,  you  can't  have  been 
a  friend  of  mine  and  have  seen  how  the  government  of  the 
United  States  has  treated  me,  and  be  a  Federalist  !  " 

It  was  an  argument  and  an  appeal  which  I  had  foreseen, 
yet  which  I  knew  not  how  to  answer.  Suddenly  there  came, 
unbidden,  his  own  counsel  which  he  had  given  me  long  ago, 
"  Serve  the  people,  as  all  true  men  should  in  a  Republic, 
but  do  not  rely  upon  their  gratitude."  This  man  had 
bidden  me  remember  that. 

"  General,"  I  said,  trying  to  speak  steadily,  "it  was  you 
who  gave  me  my  first  love  for  the  Republic.  I  remember 
you  as  you  stood  on  the  heights  above  Kaskaskia  waiting 
for  the  sun  to  go  down,  and  you  reminded  me  that  it  was 
the  nation's  birthday.  And  you  said  that  our  nation  was 
to  be  a  refuge  of  the  oppressed  of  this  earth,  a  nation  made 
of  all  peoples,  out  of  all  time.  And  you  said  that  the 


THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS  449 

lands  beyond,"  and  I  pointed  to  the  West  as  he  had  done, 
"should  belong  to  it  until  the  sun  sets  on  the  sea  again." 

I  glanced  at  him,  for  he  was  silent,  and  in  my  life  I  can 
recall  no  sadder  moment  than  this.  The  General  heard, 
but  the  man  who  had  spoken  these  words  was  gone  forever. 
The  eyes  of  this  man  before  me  were  fixed,  as  it  were, 
upon  space.  He  heard,  but  he  did  not  respond  ;  for  the 
spirit  was  gone.  What  I  looked  upon  was  the  tortured 
body  from  which  the  genius  —  the  spirit  I  had  worshipped 
—  had  fled.  I  turned  away,  only  to  turn  back  in  anger. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  this  France  for  which  you  are 
to  fight  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Have  you  heard  of  the  thousands  of 
innocents  who  are  slaughtered,  of  the  women  and  children 
who  are  butchered  in  the  streets  in  the  name  of  Liberty  ? 
What  have  those  blood-stained  adventurers  to  do  with 
Liberty,  what  have  the  fish-wives  who  love  the  sight  of 
blood  to  do  with  you  that  would  fight  for  them?  You 
warned  me  that  this  people  and  this  government  to  which 
you  have  given  so  much  would  be  ungrateful,  —  will  the 
butchers  and  fish-wives  be  more  grateful  ?  " 

He  caught  only  the  word  grateful,  and  he  rose  to  his 
feet  with  something  of  the  old  straightness  and  of  the 
old  power.  And  by  evil  chance  his  eye,  and  mine,  fell 
upon  a  sword  hanging  on  the  farther  wall.  Well  I  re 
membered  when  he  had  received  it,  well  I  knew  the 
inscription  on  its  blade,  '•'•Presented  by  the  State  of  Vir 
ginia  to  her  beloved  son,  Greorge  Rogers  Clark,  who  by  the 
conquest  of  Illinois  and  St.  Vincennes  extended  her  empire 
and  aided  in  the  defence  of  her  liberties"  By  evil  chance, 
I  say,  his  eye  lighted  on  that  sword.  In  three  steps  he 
crossed  the  room  to  where  it  hung,  snatched  it  from  its  scab 
bard,  and  ere  I  could  prevent  him  he  had  snapped  it  across 
his  knee  and  flung  the  pieces  in  a  corner. 

"  So  much  for  the  gratitude  of  my  country,"  he  said. 
******* 

I  had  gone  out  on  the  little  porch  and  stood  gazing  over 
the  expanse  of  forest  and  waters  lighted  by  the  afterglow. 
Then  I  felt  a  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  I  heard  a  familiar 
voice  calling  me  by  an  old  name. 


450  THE  CROSSING 

"  Yes,  General  !  "     I  turned  wonderingly. 

"  You  are  a  good  lad,  Davy.    I  trust  you,"  he  said.     "  I 

—  I  was  expecting  some  friends." 

He  lifted  a  hand  that  was  not  too  steady  to  his  brow 
and  scanned  the  road  leading  to  the  fort.  Even  as  he 
spoke  four  figures  emerged  from  the  woods,  —  undoubtedly 
the  gentlemen  who  had  held  the  council  at  the  inn  that 
afternoon.  We  watched  them  in  silence  as  they  drew 
nearer,  and  then  something  in  the  walk  and  appearance  of 
the  foremost  began  to  bother  me.  He  wore  a  long,  double- 
breasted,  claret-colored  redingote  that  fitted  his  slim  figure 
to  perfection,  and  his  gait  was  the  easy  gait  of  a  man  who 
goes  through  the  world  careless  of  its  pitfalls.  So  intently 
did  I  stare  that  I  gave  no  thought  to  those  who  followed 
him.  Suddenly,  when  he  was  within  fifty  paces,  a  cry 
escaped  me,  —  I  should  have  known  that  smiling,  sallow, 
weakly  handsome  face  anywhere  in  the  world. 

The  gentleman  was  none  other  than  Monsieur  Auguste 
de  St.  Gre.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  halted  and  swept 
his  hand  to  his  hat  with  a  military  salute. 

"  Citizen  General,"  he  said  gracefully,  "  we  come  and 
pay  our  respec's  to  you  and  mek  our  report,  and  ver' 
happy  to  see  you  look  well.  Citoyens,  Vive  la  R£publique  ! 

—  Hail  to  the  Citizen  General  !  " 

"Vive  la  Republique!  Vive  le  General!"  cried  the 
three  citizens  behind  him. 

"  Citizens,  you  are  very  welcome,"  answered  the  General, 
gravely,  as  he  descended  the  steps  and  took  each  of  them 
by  the  hand.  "  Citizens,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my 
old  friend,  Citizen  David  Ritchie  —  " 

"  Milles  diables!"  cried  the  Citizen  St.  Gre,  seizing  me 
by  the  hand,  "Jest  mon  cher  ami,  Monsieur  Reetchie. 
Ver'  happy  you  have  this  honor,  Monsieur ; "  and  snatching 
his  wide-brimmed  military  cocked  hat  from  his  head  he 
made  me  a  smiling,  sweeping  bow. 

"What!"  cried  the  General  to  me,  "you  know  the 
Sieur  de  St.  Gre,  Davy  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  guest  once  in  Louisiane,  mon  general"  Mon 
sieur  Auguste  explained  ;  "my  family  knows  him." 


THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS  451 

"  You  know  the  Sieur  de  St.  Gre,  Davy  ? "  said  the 
General  again. 

"  Yes,  I  know  him,"  I  answered,  I  fear  with  some  brevity. 

"  Podden  me,"  said  Auguste,  "  I  am  now  Citizen  Cap 
tain  de  St.  Gre.  And  you  are  also  embark  in  the  glorious 
cause —  Ah,  I  am  happy,"  he  added,  embracing  me  with 
a  winning  glance. 

I  was  relieved  from  the  embarrassment  of  denying  the 
impeachment  by  reason  of  being  introduced  to  the  other 
notables,  to  Citizen  Captain  Sullivan,  who  wore  an  undress 
uniform  consisting  of  a  cotton  butternut  hunting  shirt. 
He  had  charge  on  the  Bear  Grass  of  building  the  boats  for 
the  expedition,  and  was  likewise  a  prominent  member  of 
that  august  body,  the  Jacobin  Society  of  Lexington.  Next 
came  Citizen  Quartermaster  Depeau,  now  of  Knob  Licks, 
Kentucky,  sometime  of  New  Orleans.  The  Citizen 
Quartermaster  wore  his  hair  long  in  the  backwoods 
fashion;  he  had  a  keen,  pale  face  and  sunken  eyes. 

"  Ver'  glad  mek  you  known  to  me,  Citizen  Reetchie." 

The  fourth  gentleman  was  likewise  French,  and  called 
Gignoux.  The  Citizen  Gignoux  made  some  sort  of  an 
impression  on  me  which  I  did  not  stop  to  analyze.  He 
was  a  small  man,  with  a  little  round  hand  that  wriggled 
out  of  my  grasp  ;  he  had  a  big  French  nose,  bright  eyes 
that  popped  a  little  and  gave  him  the  habit  of  looking 
sidewise,  and  grizzled,  chestnut  eyebrows  over  them. 
He  had  a  thin-lipped  mouth  and  a  round  chin. 

"  Citizen  Reetchie,  is  it  ?  I  laik  to  know  citizen's  name 
glorified  by  gran'  cause.  Reetchie  ?  " 

"  Will  you  enter,  citizens  ?  "  said  the  General. 

I  do  not  know  why  I  followed  them  unless  it  were  to 
satisfy  a  devil -prompted  curiosity  as  to  how  Auguste  de 
St.  Gre  had  got  there.  We  went  into  the  room,  where  the 
General's  slovenly  negro  was  already  lighting  the  candles, 
and  the  General  proceeded  to  collect  and  fill  six  of  the 
glasses  on  the  table.  It  was  Citizen  Captain  Sullivan 
who  gave  the  toast. 

"  Citizens,"  he  cried,  "  I  give  you  the  health  of  the  fore 
most  apostle  of  Liberty  in  the  Western  world,  the  General 


452  THE  CROSSING 

who  tamed  the  savage  tribes,  who  braved  the  elements, 
who  brought  to  their  knees  the  minions  of  a  despot  king." 
A  slight  suspicion  of  a  hiccough  filled  this  gap.  "  Cast 
aside  by  an  ungrateful  government,  he  is  still  unfaltering 
in  his  allegiance  to  the  people.  May  he  lead  our  Legion 
victorious  through  the  Spanish  dominions." 

"  Vive  la  RSpublique ! "  they  shouted,  draining  their 
glasses.  "  Vive  le  citoyen  general  Clark!" 

"  Louisiana  ! "  shouted  Citizen  Sullivan,  warming, 
"  Louisiana,  groaning  under  oppression  and  tyranny,  is 
imploring  us  with  uplifted  hands.  To  those  remaining 
veteran  patriots  whose  footsteps  we  followed  to  this  dis 
tant  desert,  and  who  by  their  blood  and  toil  have  con 
verted  it  into  a  smiling  country,  we  now  look.  Under 
your  guidance,  Citizen  General,  we  fought,  we  bled  —  " 

How  far  the  Citizen  Captain  would  have  gone  is  prob 
lematical.  I  had  noticed  a  look  of  disgust  slowly  creeping 
into  the  Citizen  Quartermaster's  eyes,  and  at  this  juncture 
he  seized  the  Citizen  Captain  and  thrust  him  into  a  chair. 

"  SacrS  vent!"  he  exclaimed,  "it  is  the  proclamation  — 
he  recites  the  proclamation  !  I  see  he  have  participate  in 
those  handbill.  Poof,  the  world  is  to  conquer,  —  let  us 
not  spik  so  much." 

"  I  give  you  one  toast,"  said  the  little  Citizen  Gignoux, 
slyly,  "we  all  bring  back  one  wife  from  Nouvelle  Orleans!" 

"  Ha,"  exclaimed  the  Sieur  de  St.  Gre,  laughing,  "  the 
Citizen  Captain  Depeau  —  he  has  already  one  wife  in 
Nouvelle  OrUans"1 

The  Citizen  Quartermaster  was  angry  at  this,  and  it  did 
not  require  any  great  perspicacity  on  my  part  to  discover 
that  he  did  not  love  the  Citizen  de  St.  Gre. 

"He  is  call  in  his  country,  Gumbo  de  St.  Gre,"  said 
Citizen  Depeau.  "  It  is  a  deesh  in  that  country.  But  to 
beesness,  citizens,  —  we  embark  on  glorious  enterprise. 

1  It  is  unnecessary  for  the  editor  to  remind  the  reader  that  these  are 
not  Mr.  Ritchie's  words,  but  those  of  an  adventurer.  Mr.  Depeau  was  an 
honest  and  worthy  gentleman,  earnest  enough  in  a  cause  which  was 
more  to  his  credit  than  to  an  American's.  According  to  contemporary 
evidence,  Madame  Depeau  was  in  New  Orleans. 


THE  HOUSE  ABOVE  THE  FALLS      453 

The  King  and  Queen  of  France,  she  pay  for  her  treason 
with  their  haids,  and  we  must  be  prepare'  for  do  the  sem." 

"  Ha,"  exclaimed  the  Sieur  de  St.  Gre,  "  the  Citizen 
Quartermaster  will  lose  his  provision  before  his  haid." 

The  inference  was  plain,  and  the  Citizen  Quartermaster 
was  quick  to  take  it  up. 

"  We  are  all  among  frien's,"  said  he.  "  Why  I  call  you 
Gumbo  de  St.  Gre  ?  When  I  come  first  settle  in  Loui- 
siane  you  was  wild  man  —  yes.  Drink  tafia,  fight  duel, 
spend  family  money.  Aristocrat  then.  No,  I  not  hold 
my  tongue.  You  go  France  and  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de 
St.  Gre  he  get  you  in  gardes  du  corps  of  the  King.  Yes,  I 
tell  him.  You  tell  the  Citizen  General  how  come  you 
Jacobin  now,  and  we  see  if  he  mek  you  Captain." 

A  murmur  of  surprise  escaped  from  several  of  the  com 
pany,  and  they  all  stared  at  the  Sieur  de  St.  Gre.  But 
General  Clark  brought  down  his  fist  on  the  table  with 
something  of  his  old-time  vigor,  and  the  glasses  rattled. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  will  have  no  quarrelling  in  my  pres 
ence,"  he  cried  ;  "  and  I  beg  to  inform  Citizen  Depeau  that 
I  bestow  my  commissions  where  it  pleases  me." 

Auguste  de  St.  Gre  rose,  flushing,  to  his  feet.  "  Citi 
zens,"  he  said,  with  a  fluency  that  was  easy  for  him,  "  I 
never  mek  secret  of  my  history  —  no.  It  is  true  my 
relation,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  St.  Gre,  bought  me  a 
pair  of  colors  in  the  King's  gardes  du  corps" 

"  And  is  it  not  truth  you  tremple  the  coackade,  what  I 
hear  from  Philadelphe  ?  "  cried  Depeau. 

Monsieur  Auguste  smiled  with  a  patient  tolerance. 

"  If  you  hev  pains  to  mek  inquiry,"  said  he,  "  you  must 
learn  that  I  join  le  Marquis  de  La  Fayette  and  the  National 
Guard.  That  I  have  since  fight  for  the  Revolution. 
That  I  am  come  now  home  to  fight  for  Louisiane,  as 
Monsieur  Genet  will  tell  you  whom  I  saw  in  Philadelphe." 

"  The  Citizen  Capitaine  —  he  spiks  true." 

All  eyes  were  turned  towards  Gignoux,  who  had  been 
sitting  back  in  his  chair,  very  quiet. 

"  It  is  true  what  he  say,"  he  repeated,  "  I  have  it  by 
Monsieur  Genet  himself." 


454  THE  CROSSING 

"Gentlemen,"  said  General  Clark,  "this  is  beside  the 
question,  and  I  will  not  have  these  petty  quarrels.  I  may 
as  well  say  to  you  now  that  I  have  chosen  the  Citizen 
Captain  to  go  at  once  to  New  Orleans  and  organize  a  regi 
ment  among  the  citizens  there  faithful  to  France.  On 
account  of  his  family  and  supposed  Royalist  tendencies  he 
will  not  be  suspected.  I  fear  that  a  month  at  least  has 
yet  to  elapse  before  our  expedition  can  move." 

"  It  is  one  wise  choice,"  put  in  Monsieur  Gignoux. 

'•'•Monsieur  le  g&nSral  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  Sieur  de 
St.  Gre,  gracefully,  "  I  thank  you  ver'  much  for  the  confi 
dence.  I  leave  by  first  flatboat  and  will  have  all  things 
stir  up  when  you  come.  The  citizens  of  Louisiane  await 
you.  If  necessair,  we  have  hole  in  levee  ready  to  cut." 

"  Citizens,"  interrupted  General  Clark,  sitting  down 
before  the  ink-pot,  "let  us  hear  the  Quartermaster's 
report  of  the  supplies  at  Knob  Licks,  and  Citizen  Sulli 
van's  account  of  the  boats.  But  hold,"  he  cried,  glancing 
around  him,  "  where  is  Captain  Temple  ?  I  heard  that  he 
had  come  to  Louisville  from  the  Cumberland  to-day.  Is 
he  not  going  with  you  to  New  Orleans,  St.  Gre  ?  " 

I  took  up  the  name  involuntarily. 

"  Captain  Temple,"  I  repeated,  while  they  stared  at  me. 
«  Nicholas  Temple  ?  " 

It  was  Auguste  de  St.  Gre  who  replied. 

"The  sem,"  he  said.  "I  recall  he  was  along  with  you 
in  Nouvelle  Orleans.  He  is  at  ze  tavern,  and  he  has  had 
gran'  fight,  and  he  is  ver'  —  I  am  sorry  —  intoxicate  —  " 


I  know  not  how  I  made  my  way  through  the  black  woods 
to  Fort  Finney,  where  I  discovered  Jake  Landrasse  and  his 
canoe.  The  road  was  long,  and  yet  short,  for  my  brain 
whirled  with  the  expectation  of  seeing  Nick  again,  and 
the  thought  of  this  poor,  pathetic,  ludicrous  expedition 
compared  to  the  sublime  one  I  had  known. 

George  Rogers  Clark  had  eome  to  this  1 


CHAPTER  III 

LOUISVILLE   CELEBRATES 

"THEY  have  gran'  time  in  Louisville  to-night,  Davy," 
said  Jake  Landrasse,  as  he  paddled  me  towards  the  Ken 
tucky  shore ;  "  you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  stone  deaf  if  I  didn't,"  I  answered,  for 
the  shouting  which  came  from  the  town  filled  me  with 
forebodings. 

"They  come  back  from  the  barbecue  full  of  whiskey," 
said  Jake,  "  and  a  young  man  at  the  tavern  come  out  on 
the  porch  and  he  say,  '  Get  ready  you  all  to  go  to  Louisi 
ana  !  You  been  hole  back  long  enough  by  tyranny.' 
Sam  Barker  come  along  and  say  he  a  Federalist.  They 
done  have  a  gran'  fight,  he  and  the  young  feller,  and  Sam 
got  licked.  He  went  at  Sam  just  like  a  harricane." 

"  And  then  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Them  four  wanted  to  leave,"  said  Jake,  taking  no 
trouble  to  disguise  his  disgust,  "  and  I  had  to  fetch  'em 
over.  I've  got  to  go  back  and  wait  for  'em  now,"  and 
he  swore  with  sincere  disappointment.  "  I  reckon  there 
ain't  been  such  a  jamboree  in  town  for  years." 

Jake  had  not  exaggerated.  Gentlemen  from  Moore's 
Settlement,  from  Sullivan's  Station  on  the  Bear  Grass,  — 
to  be  brief,  the  entire  male  population  of  the  county 
seemed  to  have  moved  upon  Louisville  after  the  barbecue, 
and  I  paused  involuntarily  at  the  sight  which  met  my 
eyes  as  I  came  into  the  street.  A  score  of  sputtering, 
smoking  pine-knots  threw  a  lurid  light  on  as  many  hila 
rious  groups,  and  revealed,  fantastically  enough,  the  boles 
and  lower  branches  of  the  big  shade  trees  above  them. 
Navigation  for  the  individual,  difficult  enough  lower  down. 

455 


456  THE   CROSSING 

in  front  of  the  tavern  became  positively  dangerous.  There 
was  a  human  eddy,  —  nay,  a  maelstrom  would  better  de 
scribe  it.  Fights  began,  but  ended  abortively  by  reason  of 
the  inability  of  the  combatants  to  keep  their  feet  ;  one 
man  whose  face  I  knew  passed  me  with  his  hat  afire, 
followed  by  several  companions  in  gusts  of  laughter,  for 
the  torch-bearers  were  careless  and  burned  the  ears  of 
their  friends  in  their  enthusiasm.  Another  person  whom 
I  recognized  lacked  a  large  portion  of  the  front  of  his 
attire,  and  seemed  sublimely  unconscious  of  the  fact.  His 
face  was  badly  scratched.  Several  other  friends  of  mine 
were  indulging  in  brief  intervals  of  rest  on  the  ground, 
and  I  barely  avoided  stepping  on  them.  Still  other  gen 
tlemen  were  delivering  themselves  of  the  first  impressive 
periods  of  orations,  only  to  be  drowned  by  the  cheers  of 
their  auditors.  These  were  the  snatches  which  I  heard 
as  I  picked  my  way  onward  with  exaggerated  fear  :  — 

"  Gentlemen,  the  Mississippi  is  ours,  let  the  tyrants  who 
forbid  its  use  beware  !  "  "  To  hell  with  the  Federal 
government  ! "  "I  tell  you,  sirs,  this  land  is  ours.  We 
have  conquered  it  with  our  blood,  and  I  reckon  no  Spaniard 
is  goin'  to  stop  us.  We  ain't  come  this  far  to  stand  still. 
We  settled  Kaintuck,  fit  off  the  redskins,  and  we'll  march 
across  the  Mississippi  and  on  and  on  — "  "To  Louisi- 
any  !  "  they  shouted,  and  the  whole  crowd  would  take  it 
up,  "  To  Louisiany  !  Open  the  river  !  " 

So  absorbed  was  I  in  my  own  safety  and  progress  that  I 
did  not  pause  to  think  (as  I  have  often  thought  since) 
of  the  full  meaning  of  this,  though  I  had  marked  it  for 
many  years.  The  support  given  to  Wilkinson's  plots,  to 
Clark's  expedition,  was  merely  the  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  the  onward  sweep  of  a  resistless  race.  In  spite  of 
untold  privations  and  hardships,  of  cruel  warfare  and 
massacre,  these  people  had  toiled  over  the  mountains  into 
this  land,  and  impatient  of  check  or  hindrance  would,  even 
as  Clark  had  predicted,  when  their  numbers  were  sufficient 
leap  the  Mississippi.  Night  or  day,  drunk  or  sober,  they 
spoke  of  this  thing  with  an  ever  increasing  vehemence, 
and  no  man  of  reflection  who  had  read  their  history  could 


LOUISVILLE   CELEBRATES  457 

say  that  they  would  be  thwarted.  One  day  Louisiana 
would  be  theirs  and  their  children's  for  the  generations  to 
come.  One  day  Louisiana  would  be  American. 

That  I  was  alive  and  unscratched  when  I  got  as  far  as 
the  tavern  is  a  marvel.  Amongst  all  the  passion-lit  faces 
which  surrounded  me  I  could  get  no  sight  of  Nick's,  and  I 
managed  to  make  my  way  to  a  momentarily  quiet  corner 
of  the  porch.  As  I  leaned  against  the  wall  there,  trying 
to  think  what  I  should  do,  there  came  a  great  cheering 
from  a  little  way  up  the  street,  and  then  I  straightened 
in  astonishment.  Above  the  cheering  came  the  sound  of 
a  drum  beaten  in  marching  time,  and  above  that  there  burst 
upon  the  night  what  purported  to  be  the  "  Marseillaise," 
taken  up  and  bawled  by  a  hundred  drunken  throats  and 
without  words.  Those  around  me  who  were  sufficiently 
nimble  began  to  run  towards  the  noise,  and  I  ran  after 
them.  And  there,  marching  down  the  middle  of  the 
street  at  the  head  of  a  ragged  and  most  indecorous  column 
of  twos,  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  of  light  cast  by  a  pine- 
knot  which  Joe  Handy  held,  was  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple. 
His  bearing,  if  a  trifle  unsteady,  was  proud,  and  —  if  I 
could  believe  my  eyes — around  his  neck  was  slung  the 
thing  which  I  prized  above  all  my  possessions,  —  the 
drum  which  I  had  carried  to  Kaskaskia  and  Vincennes  ! 
He  had  taken  it  from  the  peg  in  my  room. 

I  shrink  from  putting  on  paper  the  sentimental  side  of 
my  nature,  and  indeed  I  could  give  no  adequate  idea  of  my 
affection  for  that  drum.  And  then  there  was  Nick,  who 
had  been  lost  to  me  for  five  years  !  My  impulse  was  to 
charge  the  procession,  seize  Nick  and  the  drum  together, 
and  drag  them  back  to  my  room  ;  but  the  futility  and 
danger  of  such  a  course  were  apparent,  and  the  caution  for 
which  I  am  noted  prevented  my  undertaking  it.  The 
procession,  augmented  by  all  those  to  whom  sufficient 
power  of  motion  remained,  cheered  by  the  helpless  but 
willing  ones  on  the  ground,  swept  on  down  the  street  and 
through  the  town.  Even  at  this  late  day  I  shame  to  write 
it  !  Behold  me,  David  Ritchie,  Federalist,  execrably  sober, 
at  the  head  of  the  column  behind  the  leader.  Was  it 


458  THE  CROSSING 

twenty  minutes,  or  an  hour,  that  we  paraded  ?  This  I 
know,  that  we  slighted  no  street  in  the  little  town  of 
Louisville.  What  was  my  bearing,  —  whether  proud  or 
angry  or  carelessly  indifferent,  —  I  know  not.  The  glare 
of  Joe  Handy's  torch  fell  on  my  face,  Joe  Handy's  arm 
and  that  of  another  gentleman,  the  worse  for  liquor,  were 
linked  in  mine,  and  they  saw  fit  to  applaud  at  every  step 
my  conversion  to  the  cause  of  Liberty.  We  passed  time 
and  time  again  the  respectable  door-yards  of  my  Federalist 
friends,  and  I  felt  their  eyes  upon  me  with  that  look  which 
the  angels  have  for  the  fallen.  Once,  in  front  of  Mr. 
Wharton's  house,  Mr.  Handy  burned  my  hair,  apologized, 
staggered,  and  I  took  the  torch  !  And  I  used  it  to  good 
advantage  in  saving  the  drum  from  capture.  For  Mr. 
Temple,  with  all  the  will  in  the  world,  had  begun  to 
stagger.  At  length,  after  marching  seemingly  half  the 
night,  they  halted  by  common  consent  before  the  house 
of  a  prominent  Democrat  who  shall  be  nameless,  and, 
after  some  minutes  of  vain  importuning,  Nick,  with  a 
tattoo  on  the  drum,  marched  boldly  up  to  the  gate  and 
into  the  yard.  A  desperate  cunning  came  to  my  aid.  I 
flung  away  the  torch,  leaving  the  head  of  the  column  in 
darkness,  broke  from  Mr.  Handy's  embrace,  and,  seizing 
Nick  by  the  arm,  led  him  onward  through  the  premises,  he 
drumming  with  great  docility.  Followed  by  a  few  strag 
glers  only  (some  of  whom  went  down  in  contact  with  the 
trees  of  the  orchard),  we  came  to  a  gate  at  the  back  which  I 
knew  well,  which  led  directly  into  the  little  yard  that  fronted 
my  own  rooms  behind  Mr.  Crede's  store.  Pulling  Nick 
through  the  gate,  I  slammed  it,  and  he  was  only  begin 
ning  to  protest  when  I  had  him  safe  within  my  door,  and 
the  bolt  slipped  behind  him.  As  I  struck  a  light  some 
thing  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  crash,  an  odor  of  alcohol 
filled  the  air,  and  as  the  candle  caught  the  flame  I  saw  a 
shattered  whiskey  bottle  at  my  feet  and  a  room  which  had 
been  given  over  to  carousing.  In  spite  of  my  feelings  I 
could  not  but  laugh  at  the  perfectly  irresistible  figure  my 
cousin  made,  as  he  stood  before  me  with  the  drum  slung  in 
front  of  him.  His  hat  was  gone,  his  dust-covered  clothes 


LOUISVILLE   CELEBRATES  459 

awry,  but  lie  smiled  at  me  benignly  and  without  a  trace  of 
surprise. 

"  Sho  you've  come  back  at  lasht,  Davy,"  he  said.  "  You're 
—  you're  very  —  irregular.  You'll  lose  —  law  bishness. 
Y-you're  worse'n  Andy  Jackson  —  he's  always  fightin'." 

I  relieved  him,  unprotesting,  of  the  drum,  thanking  my 
stars  there  was  so  much  as  a  stick  left  of  it.  He  watched 
me  with  a  silent  and  exaggerated  interest  as  I  laid  it  on 
the  table.  From  a  distance  without  came  the  shouts  oi 
the  survivors  making  for  the  tavern. 

"  'Sfortunate  you  had  the  drum,  Davy,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  'rwe'd  had  no  procession." 

"  It  is  fortunate  I  have  it  now,"  I  answered,  looking 
ruefully  at  the  battered  rim  where  Nick  had  missed  the 
skin  in  his  ardor. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  funny  thing  —  I  didn't  know  you 
wash  a  Jacobite.  Sh'ou  hear,"  he  added  relevantly,  "  th' 
Andy  Jackson  was  married  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  having  no  great  interest  in  Mr.  Jack 
son.  "  Where  have  you  been  seeing  him  again?  " 

"  Nashville  on  Cumberland.  Jackson'sh  county  sholici- 
tor,  —  devil  of  a  man.  I'll  tell  you,  Davy,"  he  continued, 
laying  an  uncertain  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  speaking 
with  great  earnestness,  "  I  had  Chicashaw  horse  —  Jack- 
son'd  Virginia  thoroughbred  —  had  a  race  —  'n' Jackson 
wanted  to  shoot  me  'n'l  wanted  to  shoot  Jackson.  'N'then 
we  all  went  to  the  Red  Heifer  —  " 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  Red  Heifer?  "  I  asked. 

"  'N'dishtillery  over  a  shpring,  'n'they  blow  a  horn  when 
the  liquor  runsh.  'N'then  we  had  supper  in  Major  Lewish's 
tavern.  Major  Lewis  came  in  with  roast  pig  on  platter. 
You  know  roast  pig,  Davy?  .  .  .  'N' Jackson  pulls  out's 
hunting  knife  n' waves  it  very  mashestic.  .  .  .  You  know 
how  mashestic  Jackson  is  when  he  —  wantshtobe  ?  "  He 
let  go  my  shoulder,  brushed  back  his  hair  in  a  fiery 
manner,  and,  seizing  a  knife  which  unhappily  lay  on  the 
table,  gave  me  a  graphic  illustration  of  Mr.  Jackson  about 
to  carve  the  pig,  I  retreating,  and  he  coming  on.  "  N'when 
he  stuck  the  pig,  Davy,  —  " 


460  THE   CROSSING 

He  poised  the  knife  for  an  instant  in  the  air,  and  then, 
before  I  could  interpose,  he  brought  it  down  deftly  through 
the  head  of  my  precious  drum,  and  such  a  frightful, 
agonized  squeal  filled  the  room  that  even  I  shivered  invol 
untarily,  and  for  an  instant  I  had  a  vivid  vision  of  a  pig 
struggling  in  the  hands  of  a  butcher.  I  laughed  in  spite 
of  myself.  But  Nick  regarded  me  soberly. 

"  Funny  thing,  Davy,"  he  said,  "  they  all  left  the  room." 
For  a  moment  he  appeared  to  be  ruminating  on  this  singu 
lar  phenomenon.  Then  he  continued:  "  'N' Jackson  was 
back  firsht,  'n'he  was  damned  impolite  .  .  .  'n'he  shook 
his  fist  in  my  face  "  (here  Nick  illustrated  Mr.  Jackson's 
gesture),  "  'n'he  said,  '  Great  God,  sir,  y'have  a  fine  talent, 
but  if  y'ever  do  that  again,  I'll  —  I'll  kill  you.'  .  .  . 
That'sh  what  he  said,  Davy." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  Nashville,  Nick  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  A  year,"  he  said,  "  lookin'  after  property  I  won  rattle- 
an'-shnap  —  you  remember  ?  " 

"  And  why  didn't  you  let  me  know  you  were  in  Nash 
ville  ? "  I  asked,  though  I  realized  the  futility  of  the 
question. 

"  Thought  you  was  —  mad  at  me,"  he  answered,  "  but 
you  ain't,  Davy.  You've  been  very  good-natured  t'  let 
me  have  your  drum."  He  straightened.  "I  am  ver' 
much  obliged." 

"  And  where  were  you  before  you  went  to  Nashville  ?  " 
I  said. 

"  Charleston,  'Napolis  .  .  .  Philadelphia  .  .  .  every 
where,"  he  answered. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "'mgoin'  t'  bed." 

I  applauded  this  determination,  but  doubted  whether 
he  meant  to  carry  it  out.  However,  I  conducted  him  to 
the  back  room,  where  he  sat  himself  down  on  the  edge 
of  my  four-poster,  and  after  conversing  a  little  longer 
on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Jackson  (who  seemed  to  have 
gotten  upon  his  brain),  he  toppled  over  and  instantly 
fell  asleep  with  his  clothes  on.  For  a  while  I  stood  over 
him,  the  old  affection  welling  up  so  strongly  within  me 


LOUISVILLE  CELEBRATES  461 

that  my  eyes  were  dimmed  as  I  looked  upon  his  face. 
Spare  and  handsome  it  was,  and  boyish  still,  the  weaker 
lines  emphasized  in  its  relaxation.  Would  that  relentless 
spirit  with  which  he  had  been  born  make  him,  too,  a  wan 
derer  forever?  And  was  it  not  the  strangest  of  fates 
which  had  impelled  him  to  join  this  madcap  expedition 
of  this  other  man  I  loved,  George  Rogers  Clark  ? 

I  went  out,  closed  the  door,  and  lighting  another  candle 
took  from  my  portfolio  a  packet  of  letters.  Two  of  them 
I  had  not  read,  having  found  them  only  on  my  return  from 
Philadelphia  that  morning.  They  were  all  signed  simply 
"  Sarah  Temple,"  they  were  dated  at  a  certain  number  in 
the  Rue  Bourbon,  New  Orleans,  and  each  was  a  tragedy 
in  that  which  it  had  left  unsaid.  There  was  no  suspicion 
of  heroics,  there  was  no  railing  at  fate ;  the  letters  breathed 
but  the  one  hope,  —  that  her  son  might  come  again  to  that 
happiness  of  which  she  had  robbed  him.  There  were  in 
all  but  twelve,  and  they  were  brief,  for  some  affliction  had 
nearly  deprived  the  lady  of  the  use  of  her  right  hand.  I 
read  them  twice  over,  and  then,  despite  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  I  sat  staring  at  the  candles,  reflecting  upon  my  own 
helplessness.  I  was  startled  from  this  revery  by  a  knock. 
Rising  hastily,  I  closed  the  door  of  my  bedroom,  thinking 
I  had  to  do  with  some  drunken  reveller  who  might  be 
noisy.  The  knock  was  repeated.  I  slipped  back  the  bolt 
and  peered  out  into  the  night. 

*'  I  saw  dat  light,"  said  a  voice  which  I  recognized ;  "  I 
think  I  come  in  to  say  good  night." 

I  opened  the  door,  and  he  walked  in. 

"You  are  one  night  owl,  Monsieur  Reetchie,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  seem  to  prefer  the  small  hours  for  your 
visits,  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,"  I  could  not  refrain  from 
replying. 

He  swept  the  room  with  a  glance,  and  I  thought  a  shade 
of  disappointment  passed  over  his  face.  I  wondered 
whether  he  were  looking  for  Nick.  He  sat  himself  down 
in  my  chair,  stretched  out  his  legs,  and  regarded  me  with 
something  less  than  his  usual  complacency. 

"  I  have  much  laik  for  you,  Monsieur  Reetchie,"  he 


462  THE  CKOSSING- 

began,  and  waved  aside  my  bow  of  acknowledgment. 
"  Before  I  go  away  from  Louisville  I  want  to  spik  with 
you, — this  is  a  risson  why  I  am  here.  You  listen  to 
what  dat  Depeau  he  say,  —  dat  is  not  truth.  My  family 
knows  you,  I  laik  to  have  you  hear  de  truth." 

He  paused,  and  while  I  wondered  what  revelations  he 
was  about  to  make,  I  could  not  repress  my  impatience  at 
the  preamble. 

"  You  are  my  frien',  you  have  prove  it,"  he  continued. 
"  You  remember  las'  time  we  meet  ?  "  (I  smiled  involun 
tarily.  )  "  You  was  in  bed,  but  you  not  need  be  ashame' 
for  me.  Two  days  after  I  went  to  France,  and  I  not  in 
New  Orleans  since." 

"  Two  days  after  you  saw  me  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Yaas,  I  run  away.  That  was  the  mont'  of  August, 
1789,  and  we  have  not  then  heard  in  New  Orleans  that 
the  Bastille  is  attack.  I  Ian'  at  La  Havre,  —  it  is  the  en' 
of  Septembre.  I  go  to  the  Chateau  de  St.  Gre —  great 
iron  gates,  long  avenue  of  poplar,  —  big  house  all  'round  a 
court,  and  Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  at  Versailles.  I  bor 
row  three  louis  from  the  concierge,  and  I  go  to  Versailles 
to  the  hotel  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  There  is  all  dat 
trouble  what  you  read  about  going  on,  and  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  he  not  so  glad  to  see  me  for  dat  risson.  '  Mon 
cher  AugusteJ  he  cry,  '  you  want  to  be  officier  in  gardes  du 
corps  f  You  are  not  afred  ?  ' :'  (Auguste  stiffened.)  "  '  I 
am  a  St.  Gre\  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  I  am  afred  of  noth 
ings,'  I  answered.  He  tek  me  to  the  King,  I  am  made 
lieutenant,  the  mob  come  and  the  King  and  Queen  are 
carry  off  to  Paris.  The  King  is  prisoner,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  goes  back  to  the  Chateau  de  St.  Gre.  France  is 
a  republic.  Monsieur  —  que  voulez-vous  ?  "  (The  Sieur  de 
St.  Gre  shrugged  his  shoulders.)  "  I,  too,  become  Repub 
lican.  I  become  officier  in  the  National  Guard,  —  one 
must  move  with  the  time.  Is  it  not  so,  Monsieur?  I 
deman'  of  you  if  you  ever  expec'  to  see  a  St.  Gre  a 
Republican." 

I  expressed  my  astonishment. 

"  I  give  up  my  right,  my  principle,  my  family.     I  come 


LOUISVILLE  CELEBKATES  463 

to  America  —  I  go  to  New  Orleans  where  I  have  influence 
and  I  stir  up  revolution  for  France,  for  Liberty.  Is  it 
not  noble  cause  ?  " 

I  had  it  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  ask  Monsieur 
Auguste  why  he  left  France,  but  the  uselessness  of  it 
was  apparent. 

"  You  see,  Monsieur,  I  am  justify  before  you,  before  my 
frien's,  —  that  is  all  I  care,"  and  he  gave  another  shrug 
in  defiance  of  the  world  at  large.  "What  I  have  done,  I 
have  done  for  principle.  If  I  remain  Royalist,  I  might 
have  marry  my  cousin,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre.  Ha, 
Monsieur,  you  remember  —  the  miniature  you  were  so 
kin'  as  to  borrow  me  four  hundred  livres  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  much  confidence  in  you,  Mon 
sieur,"  he  said,  "  it  is  because  I  go  — peut-etre  —  to  dan- 
gere,  to  death,  that  I  come  here  and  ask  you  to  do  me  a 
favor." 

"You  honor  me  too  much,  Monsieur,"  I  answered, 
though  I  could  scarce  refrain  from  smiling. 

"  It  is  because  of  your  charactair,"  Monsieur  Auguste 
was  good  enough  to  say.  "  You  are  to  be  repose'  in,  you 
are  to  be  rely  on.  Sometime  I  think  you  ver'  ole  man. 
And  this  is  why,  and  sence  you  laik  objects  of  art,  that  I 
bring  this  and  ask  you  keep  it  while  I  am  in  dangere." 

I  was  mystified.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  coat  and 
drew  forth  an  oval  object  wrapped  in  dirty  paper,  and 
then  disclosed  to  my  astonished  eyes  the  miniature  of 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gr£,  —  the  miniature,  I  say,  for  the 
gold  back  and  setting  were  lacking.  Auguste  had  retained 
only  the  ivory,  —  whether  from  sentiment  or  necessity  I 
will  not  venture.  The  sight  of  it  gave  me  a  strange  sen 
sation,  and  I  can  scarcely  write  of  the  anger  and  disgust 
which  surged  over  me,  of  the  longing  to  snatch  it  from  his 
trembling  fingers.  Suddenly  I  forgot  Auguste  in  the 
lady  herself.  There  was  something  emblematical  in  the 
misfortune  which  had  bereft  the  picture  'of  its  setting. 
Even  so  the  Revolution  had  taken  from  her  a  brilliant 
life,  a  king  and  queen,  home  and  friends.  Yet  the  spirit 


464  THE   CROSSING 

remained  unquenchable,  set  above  its  mean  surround 
ings,  —  ay,  and  untouched  by  them.  I  was  filled  with  a 
painful  curiosity  to  know  what  had  become  of  her,  which 
I  repressed.  Auguste's  voice  aroused  me. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,  is  it  not  a  face  to  love,  to  adore  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  face  to  obey,"  I  answered,  with  some  heat,  and 
with  more  truth  than  I  knew. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  Monsieur,  it  is  so.  It  is  that  mek  me  love  — 
you  know  not  how.  You  know  not  what  love  is,  Mon 
sieur  Reetchie,  you  never  love  laik  me.  You  have  not  sem 
risson.  Monsieur,"  he  continued,  leaning  forward  and 
putting  his  hand  on  my  knee,  "  I  think  she  love  me  —  I 
am  not  sure.  I  should  not  be  surprise'.  But  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,  her  father,  he  trit  me  ver'  bad.  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  is  guillotine'  now,  I  mus'  not  spik  evil  of  him, 
but  he  marry  her  to  one  ol'  garpon,  Le  Vicomte  d'lvry-le- 
Tour." 

"  So  Mademoiselle  is  married,"  I  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Oui,  she  is  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  now  ;  I  fall  at  her 
feet  jus'  the  sem.  I  hear  of  her  once  at  Bel  Oeil,  the 
chateau  of  Monsieur  le  Prince  de  Ligne  in  Flander'. 
After  that  they  go  I  know  not  where.  They  are  exile', — 
los'  to  me."  He  sighed,  and  held  out  the  miniature  to  me. 
"  Monsieur,  I  esk  you  favor.  Will  you  be  as  kin'  and 
keep  it  for  me  again  ?  " 

I  have  wondered  many  times  since  why  I  did  not  refuse. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  took  it.  And  Auguste's  face 
lighted  up. 

"  I  am  a  thousan*  times  gret'ful,"  he  cried  ;  and  added, 
as  though  with  an  afterthought,  "Monsieur,  would  you 
be  so  kin'  as  to  borrow  me  fif '  dollars  ?  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

OP  A   SUDDEN   RESOLUTION 

IT  was  nearly  morning  when  I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair, 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  for  the  day  before  had  been  a  hard 
one,  even  for  me.  I  awoke  with  a  start,  and  sat  for  some 
minutes  trying  to  collect  my  scattered  senses.  The  sun 
streamed  in  at  my  open  door,  the  birds  hopped  on  the 
lawn,  and  the  various  sounds  of  the  bustling  life  of  the 
little  town  came  to  me  from  beyond.  Suddenly,  with  a 
glimmering  of  the  mad  events  of  the  night,  I  stood  up, 
walked  uncertainly  into  the  back  room,  and  stared  at  the 
bed. 

It  was  empty.  I  went  back  into  the  outer  room  ;  my 
eye  wandered  from  the  shattered  whiskey  bottle,  which 
was  still  on  the  floor,  to  the  table  littered  wit>  Mrs. 
Temple's  letters.  And  there,  in  the  midst  of  them,  lay  a 
note  addressed  with  my  name  in  a  big,  unformed  hand.  I 
opened  it  mechanically. 

" Dear  Davy,"  —  so  it  ran,  —  "I  have  gone  away,  I  can • 
not  tell  you  where.  Some  day  I  will  come  back  and  you 
will  forgive  me.  God  bless  you !  NICK." 

He  had  gone  away  !  To  New  Orleans  ?  I  had  long 
ceased  trying  to  account  for  Nick's  actions,  but  the  more 
I  reflected,  the  more  incredible  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
should  have  gone  there,  of  all  places.  And  yet  I  had  had 
it  from  Clark's  own  lips  (indiscreet  enough  now!)  that 
Nick  and  St.  Gre  were  to  prepare  the  way  for  an  insurrec 
tion  there.  My  thoughts  ran  on  to  other  possibilities  ; 
would  he  see  his  mother  ?  But  he  had  no  reason  to  know 
that  Mrs.  Temple  was  still  in  New  Orleans.  Then  my 
glance  fell  on  her  letters,  lying  open  on  the  table.  Had  he 
2  P  463 


466  THE  CROSSING 

read  them  ?  I  put  this  down  as  improbable,  for  he  was  a 
man  who  held  strictly  to  a  point  of  honor. 

And  then  there  was  Antoinette  de  St.  Gre  !  I  ceased 
to  conjecture  here,  dashed  some  water  in  my  eyes,  pulled 
myself  together,  and,  seizing  my  hat,  hurried  out  into  the 
street.  I  made  a  sufficiently  indecorous  figure  as  I  ran 
towards  the  water-side,  barely  nodding  to  my  acquaint 
ances  on  the  way.  It  was  a  fresh  morning,  a  river  breeze 
stirred  the  waters  of  the  Bear  Grass,  and  as  I  stood,  scan 
ning  the  line  of  boats  there,  I  heard  footsteps  behind  me. 
I  turned  to  confront  a  little  man  with  grizzled,  chestnut 
eyebrows.  He  was  none  other  than  the  Citizen  Gignoux. 

"  You  tek  ze  air,  Monsieur  Reetchie  ?  "  said  he.  "  You 
look  for  some  one,  yes  ?  You  git  up  too  late  see  him  off." 

I  made  a  swift  resolve  never  to  quibble  with  this  man. 

"  So  Mr.  Temple  has  gone  to  New  Orleans  with  the 
Sieur  de  St.  Gre,"  I  said. 

Citizen  Gignoux  laid  a  fat  finger  on  one  side  of  his 
great  nose.  The  nose  was  red  and  shiny,  I  remember, 
and  glistened  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  'tis  no  use  try  in'  hide  from  you.  How 
ever,  Monsieur  Reetchie,  you  are  the  ver'  soul  of  honor. 
And  then  your  frien'  !  I  know  you  not  betray  the  Sieur 
de  St.  Gre\  He  is  ver'  fon'  of  you." 

"  Betray  !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  there  is  no  question  of  be 
trayal.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  your  plans  are  carried  on 
openly,  with  a  fine  contempt  for  the  Federal  government." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  'Tis  not  my  doin',"  he  said,  "  but  I  am — what  you  call 
it  ?  —  a  cipher.  Sicrecy  is  what  I  believe.  But  drink  too 
much,  talk  too  much  —  is  it  not  so,  Monsieur  ?  And  if 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Carondelet,  ze  governor,  hear  they 
are  in  New  Orleans,  I  think  they  go  to  Havana  or  Brazil." 
He  smiled,  but  perhaps  the  expression  of  my  face  caused 
him  to  sober  abruptly.  "  It  is  necessair  for  the  cause. 
We  must  have  good  Revolution  in  Louisiane." 

A  suspicion  of  this  man  came  over  me,  for  a  childlike 
simplicity  characterized  the  other  ringleaders  in  this  expe 
dition.  Clark  had  had  acumen  once,  and  lost  it ;  St.  Gre 


OF  A  SUDDEN  EESOLUTION  467 

was  a  fool ;  Nick  Temple  was  leading  purposely  a  reck 
less  life  ;  the  Citizens  Sullivan  and  Depeau  had,  to  say 
the  least,  a  limited  knowledge  of  affairs.  All  of  these 
were  responding  more  or  less  sincerely  to  the  cry  of  the 
people  of  Kentucky  (every  day  more  passionate)  that 
something  be  done  about  Louisiana.  But  Gignoux  seemed 
of  a  different  feather.  Moreover,  he  had  been  too  shrewd 
to  deny  what  Colonel  Clark  would  have  denied  in  a  soberer 
moment,  —  that  St.  Ore"  and  Nick  had  gone  to  New  Orleans. 

"  You  not  spik,  Monsieur.  You  not  think  they  have 
success.  You  are  not  Federalist,  no,  for  I  hear  you  march 
las'  night  with  your  frien',  —  I  hear  you  wave  torch." 

"  You  make  it  your  business  to  hear  a  great  deal,  Mon 
sieur  Gignoux,"  I  retorted,  my  temper  slipping  a  little. 

He  hastened  to  apologize. 

"  Mille  pardons,  Monsieur,"  he  said;  "  I  see  you  are  Fed 
eralist —  but  drunk.  Is  it  not  so?  Monsieur,  you  tink 
this  ver'  silly  thing  —  this  expedition." 

"  Whatever  I  think,  Monsieur,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  a 
friend  of  General  Clark's." 

"  An  enemy  of  ze  cause  ?  "  he  put  in. 

"  Monsieur,"  I  said,  "  if  President  Washington  and 
General  Wayne  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  interfere 
with  your  plans,  neither  do  I." 

I  left  him  abruptly,  and  went  back  to  my  long-delayed 
affairs  with  a  heavy  heart.  The  more  I  thought,  the  more 
criminally  foolish  Nick's  journey  seemed  to  me.  However 
puerile  the  undertaking,  De  Lemos  at  Natchez  and  Caron- 
delet  at  New  Orleans  had  not  the  reputation  of  sleeping  at 
their  posts,  and  their  hatred  for  Americans  was  well  known. 
I  sought  General  Clark,  but  he  had  gone  to  Knob  Licks, 
and  in  my  anxiety  I  lay  awake  at  night,  tossing  in  my  bed. 

One  evening,  perhaps  four  days  after  Nick's  depar 
ture,  I  went  into  the  common  room  of  the  tavern,  and 
there  I  was  surprised  to  see  an  old  friend.  His  square, 
saffron  face  was  just  the  same,  his  little  jet  eyes  snapped 
as  brightly  as  ever,  his  hair  —  which  was  swept  high  above 
his  forehead  and  tied  in  an  eelskin  behind  —  was  as  black 
as  when  I  had  seen  it  at  Kaskaskia.  I  had  met  Monsieur 


468  THE  CEOSSING 

Vigo  many  times  since,  for  he  was  a  familiar  figure 
amongst  the  towns  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi,  and 
from  Vincennes  to  Anse  a  la  Graisse,  and  even  to  New 
Orleans.  His  reputation  as  a  financier  was  greater  than 
ever.  He  was  talking  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Marshall,  but 
he  rose  when  he  saw  me,  with  a  beaming  smile. 

"Ha,  it  is  Davy,"  he  cried,  "but  not  the  sem  lil 
drummer  boy  who  would  not  come  into  my  store.  Reech 
lawyer  now,  —  I  hear  you  make  much  money  now,  Davy." 

"  Congress  money  ?  "  I  said. 

Monsieur  Vigo  threw  out  his  hands,  and  laughed  exactly 
as  he  had  done  in  his  log  store  at  Kaskaskia. 

"  Congress  have  never  repay  me  one  sou,"  said  Monsieur 
Vigo,  making  a  face.  "  I  have  try  —  I  have  talk  —  I  have 
represent  —  it  is  no  good.  Davy,  it  is  your  fault.  You 
tell  me  tek  dat  money.  You  call  dat  finance  ?  " 

"David,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  sharply,  "what  the  devil 
is  this  I  hear  of  your  carrying  a  torch  in  a  Jacobin 
procession  ?  " 

"You  may  put  it  down  to  liquor,  Mr.  Marshall,"  I 
answered. 

/'Then  you   must   have   had   a  cask,  egad,"    said  Mr. 
Marshall,  "  for  I  never  saw  you  drunk." 

I  laughed. 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  explain  it,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  You  must  not  allow  your  drum  to  drag  you  into  bad 
company  again,"  said  he,  and  resumed  his  conversation. 
As  1  suspected,  it  was  a  vigorous  condemnation  of  General 
Clark  and  his  new  expedition.  I  expressed  my  belief  that 
the  government  did  not  regard  it  seriously,  arid  would 
forbid  the  enterprise  at  the  proper  time. 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  bringing  down 
his  fist  on  the  table.  "  I  have  private  advices  from  Phila 
delphia  that  the  President's  consideration  for  Governor 
Shelby  is  worn  out,  and  that  he  will  issue  a  proclamation 
within  the  next  few  days  warning  all  citizens  at  their  peril 
from  any  connection  with  the  pirates." 

I  laughed. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Marshall,"  said  I,  "  Citizen 


OF  A  SUDDEN   RESOLUTION  469 

Genet  has  been  liberal  with  nothing  except  commissions, 
and  they  have  neither  money  nor  men." 

"The  rascals  have  all  left  town,"  said  Mr.  Marshall. 
"  Citizen  Quartermaster  Depeau,  their  local  financier,  has 
gone  back  to  his  store  at  Knob  Licks.  The  Sieur  de  St. 
Gre  and  a  Mr.  Temple,  as  doubtless  you  know,  have  gone 
to  New  Orleans.  And  the  most  mysterious  and  therefore 
the  most  dangerous  of  the  lot,  Citizen  Gignoux,  has  van 
ished  like  an  evil  spirit.  It  is  commonly  supposed  that  he, 
too,  has  gone  down  the  river.  You  may  see  him,  Vigo," 
said  Mr.  Marshall,  turning  to  the  trader ;  "  he  is  a  little 
man  with  a  big  nose  and  grizzled  chestnut  eyebrows." 

"  Ah,  I  know  a  lil  'bout  him,"  said  Monsieur  Vigo;  "  he 
was  on  my  boat  two  days  ago,  asking  me  questions." 

"  The  devil  he  was  !  "  said  Mr.  Marshall. 

I  had  another  disquieting  night,  and  by  the  morning  I 
had  made  up  my  mind.  The  sun  was  glinting  on  the 
placid  waters  of  the  river  when  I  made  my  way  down  to 
the  bank,  to  a  great  ten-oared  keel  boat  that  lay  on  the 
Bear  Grass,  with  its  square  sail  furled.  An  awning  was 
stretched  over  the  deck,  and  at  a  walnut  table  covered 
with  papers  sat  Monsieur  Vigo,  smoking  his  morning  pipe. 

"  Davy,"  said  he,  "  you  have  come  a  la  bonne  heure.  At 
ten  I  depart  for  New  Orleans."  He  sighed.  "  It  is  so  long 
voyage,"  he  added,  "  and  so  lonely  one.  Sometime  I  have 
the  good  fortune  to  pick  up  a  companion,  but  not  to-day." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you  ?  "  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  incredulously. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  he  said,  "but  you  mek  a  jest." 

"  I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life,"  I  answered,  "  for 
I  have  business  in  New  Orleans.  I  shall  be  ready." 

"Ha,"  cried  Monsieur  Vigo,  hospitably,  "I  shall  be 
enchant.  We  will  talk  philosophe,  Beaumarchais,  Voltaire, 
Rousseau." 

For  Monsieur  Vigo  was  a  great  reader,  and  we  had  often 
indulged  in  conversation  which  (we  flattered  ourselves) 
had  a  literary  turn. 

I  spent  the  remaining  hours  arranging  with  a  young 
lawyer  of  my  acquaintance  to  look  after  my  business,  and  at 


470  THE  CROSSING 

ten  o'clock  I  was  aboard  the  keel  boat  with  my  small  bag 
gage.  At  eleven,  Monsieur  Vigo  and  I  were  talking 
" philosophe  "  over  a  wonderful  'breakfast  under  the  awn 
ing,  as  we  dropped  down  between  the  forest-lined  shores  of 
the  Ohio.  My  host  travelled  in  luxury,  and  we  ate  the 
Creole  dishes,  which  his  cook  prepared,  with  silver  forks 
which  he  kept  in  a  great  chest  in  the  cabin. 

You  who  read  this  may  feel  something  of  my  impatience 
to  get  to  New  Orleans,  and  hence  I  shall  not  give  a  long 
account  of  the  journey.  What  a  contrast  it  was  to  that 
which  Nick  and  I  had  taken  five  years  before  in  Monsieur 
Gratiot's  fur  boat  I  Like  all  successful  Creole  traders, 
Monsieur  Vigo  had  a  wonderful  knack  of  getting  on  with 
the  Indians,  and  often  when  we  tied  up  of  a  night  the 
chief  men  of  a  tribe  would  come  down  to  greet  him. 
We  slipped  southward  on  the  great,  yellow  river  which 
parted  the  wilderness,  with  its  sucks  and  eddies  and  green 
islands,  every  one  of  which  Monsieur  knew,  and  I  saw  again 
the  flocks  of  water-fowl  and  herons  in  procession,  and 
hawks  and  vultures  wheeling  in  their  search.  Sometimes 
a  favorable  wind  sprang  up,  and  we  hoisted  the  sail.  We 
passed  the  Walnut  Hills,  the  Nog  ales,  the  moans  of  the 
alligators  broke  our  sleep  by  night,  and  at  length  we  came 
to  Natchez,  ruled  over  now  by  that  watch-dog  of  the  Span 
ish  King,  Gayoso  de  Lemos.  Thanks  to  Monsieur  Vigo, 
his  manners  were  charming  and  his  hospitality  gracious, 
and  there  was  no  trouble  whatever  about  my  passport. 

Our  progress  was  slow  when  we  came  at  last  to  the 
belvedered  plantation  houses  amongst  the  orange  groves ; 
and  as  we  sat  on  the  wide  galleries  in  the  summer  nights, 
we  heard  all  the  latest  gossip  of  the  capital  of  Louisiana. 
The  river  was  low ;  there  was  an  ominous  quality  in  the 
heat  which  had  its  effect,  indeed,  upon  me,  and  made  the 
old  Creoles  shake  their  heads  and  mutter  a  word  with  a 
terrible  meaning.  New  Orleans  was  a  cesspool,  said  the 
enlightened.  The  Baron  de  Carondelet,  indefatigable 
man,  aimed  at  digging  a  canal  to  relieve  the  city  of  its 
filth,  but  this  would  be  the  year  when  it  was  most  needed, 
and  it  was  not  dug.  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Baron  was  energy 


OF  A  SUDDEN  RESOLUTION  471 

itself.  That  other  fever  —  the  political  one  —  he  had 
scotched.  "  £a  Ira  "  and  "  La  Marseillaise  "  had  been 
sung  in  the  theatres,  but  not  often,  for  the  Baron  had  sent 
the  alcaldes  to  shut  them  up.  Certain  gentlemen  of  French 
ancestry  had  gone  to  languish  in  the  Morro  at  Havana. 
Yes,  Monsieur  de  Carondelet,  though  fat,  was  on  horseback 
before  dawn,  New  Orleans  was  fortified  as  it  never  had 
been  before,  the  militia  organized,  real  cannon  were  on  the 
ramparts  which  could  shoot  at  a  pinch. 

Sub  rosa,  I  found  much  sympathy  among  the  planters 
with  the  Rights  of  Man.  What  had  become,  they  asked, 
of  the  expedition  of  Citizen  General  Clark  preparing  in 
the  North  ?  They  may  have  sighed  secretly  when  I 
painted  it  in  its  true  colors,  but  they  loved  peace,  these 
planters.  Strangly  enough,  the  name  of  Auguste  de  St. 
Gre  never  crossed  their  lips,  and  I  got  no  trace  of  him  or 
Nick  at  any  of  these  places.  Was  it  possible  that  they 
might  not  have  come  to  New  Orleans  after  all  ? 

Through  the  days,  when  the  sun  beat  upon  the  awning 
with  a  tropical  fierceness,  when  Monsieur  Vigo  abandoned 
himself  to  his  siestas,  I  thought.  It  was  perhaps  charac 
teristic  of  me  that  I  waited  nearly  three  weeks  to  confide 
in  my  old  friend  the  purpose  of  my  journey  to  New  Orleans. 
It  was  not  because  I  could  not  trust  him  that  I  held  my 
tongue,  but  because  I  sought  some  way  of  separating  the 
more  intimate  story  of  Nick's  mother  and  his  affair  with 
Antoinette  de  St.  Gre  from  the  rest  of  the  story.  But 
Monsieur  Vigo  was  a  man  of  importance  in  Louisiana,  and 
I  reflected  that  a  time  might  come  when  I  should  need  his 
help.  One  evening,  when  we  were  tied  up  under  the  oaks 
of  a  bayou,  I  told  him.  There  emanated  from  Monsieur 
Vigo  a  sympathy  which  few  men  possess,  and  this  I  felt 
strongly  as  he  listened,  breaking  his  silence  only  at  long 
intervals  to  ask  a  question.  It  was  a  still  night,  I  remem 
ber,  of  great  beauty,  with  a  wisp  of  a  moon  hanging  over 
the  forest  line,  the  air  heavy  with  odors  and  vibrant  with 
a  thousand  insect  tones. 

"  And  what  you  do,  Davy  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  I  must  find  my  cousin  and  St.  Gre  before  they  have  a 


472  THE  CROSSING 

chance  to  get  into  much  mischief,"  I  answered.  "  If  they 
have  already  made  a  noise,  I  thought  of  going  to  the  Baron 
de  Carondelet  and  telling  him  what  I  know  of  the  ex 
pedition.  He  will  understand  what  St.  Gre  is,  and  I  will 
explain  that  Mr.  Temple's  reckless  love  of  adventure  is 
at  the  bottom  of  his  share  in  the  matter." 

"  Bon,  Davy,"  said  my  host,  "  if  you  go,  I  go  with  you. 
But  I  believe  ze  Baron  think  Morro  good  place  for  them 
jus'  the  sem.  Ze  Baron  has  been  make  miserable  with 
Jacobins.  But  I  go  with  you  if  you  go." 

He  discoursed  for  some  time  upon  the  quality  of  the 
St.  Gres,  their  public  services,  and  before  he  went  to 
sleep  he  made  the  very  just  remark  that  there  was  a  flaw 
in  every  string  of  beads.  As  for  me,  I  went  down  into 
the  cabin,  surreptitiously  lighted  a  candle,  and  drew  from 
my  pocket  that  piece  of  ivory  which  had  so  strangely 
come  into  my  possession  once  more.  The  face  upon  it  had 
haunted  me  since  I  had  first  beheld  it.  The  miniature 
was  wrapped  now  in  a  silk  handkerchief  which  Polly  Ann 
had  bought  for  me  in  Lexington.  Shall  I  confess  it  ?  —  I 
had  carefully  rubbed  off  the  discolorations  on  the  ivory  at 
the  back,  and  the  picture  lacked  now  only  the  gold  setting. 
As  for  the  face,  I  had  a  kind  of  consolation  from  it.  I 
seemed  to  draw  of  its  strength  when  I  was  tired,  of  its 
courage  when  I  faltered.  And,  during  those  four  days  of 
indecision  in  Louisville,  it  seemed  to  say  to  me  in  words 
that  I  could  not  evade  or  forget,  "Go  to  New  Orleans." 
It  was  a  sentiment  —  foolish,  if  you  please  —  which  I 
could  not  resist.  Nay,  which  I  did  not  try  to  resist,  for 
I  had  little  enough  of  it  in  my  life.  What  did  it  matter  ? 
I  should  never  see  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  d'lvry-le-Tour. 

She  was  Helene  to  me  ;  and  the  artist  had  caught  the 
strength  of  her  soul  in  her  clear-cut  face,  in  the  eyes  that 
flashed  with  wit  and  courage,  —  eyes  that  seemed  to  look 
with  scorn  upon  what  was  mean  in  the  world  and  untrue, 
with  pity  on  the  weak.  Here  was  one  who  might  have 
governed  a  province  and  still  have  been  a  woman,  one 
who  had  taken  into  exile  the  best  of  safeguards  against 
misfortune,  —  humor  and  an  indomitable  spirit. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   HOUSE   OF   THE   HONEYCOMBED   TILES 

As  long  as  I  live  I  shall  never  forget  that  Sunday 
morning  of  my  second  arrival  at  New  Orleans.  A  saffron 
heat-haze  hung  over  the  river  and  the  city,  robbed  alike 
from  the  yellow  waters  of  the  one  and  the  pestilent  mois 
ture  of  the  other.  It  would  have  been  strange  indeed  if 
this  capital  of  Louisiana,  brought  hither  to  a  swamp  from 
the  sands  of  Biloxi  many  years  ago  by  the  energetic  Bien- 
ville,  were  not  visited  from  time  to  time  by  the  scourge  ! 

Again  I  saw  the  green  villas  on  the  outskirts,  the  ver 
dure-dotted  expanse  of  roofs  of  the  city  behind  the  levee 
bank,  the  line  of  Kentucky  boats,  keel  boats  and  barges 
which  brought  our  own  resistless  commerce  hither  in  the 
teeth  of  royal  mandates.  Farther  out,  and  tugging  fret 
fully  in  the  yellow  current,  were  the  aliens  of  the  blue 
seas,  high-hulled,  their  tracery  of  masts  and  spars  shim 
mering  in  the  heat:  a  full-rigged  ocean  packet  from  Spain, 
a  barque  and  brigantiue  from  the  West  Indies,  a  rakish 
slaver  from  Africa  with  her  water-line  dry,  discharged  but 
yesterday  of  a  teeming  horror  of  freight.  I  looked  again 
upon  the  familiar  rows  of  trees  which  shaded  the  gravelled 
promenades  where  Nick  had  first  seen  Antoinette.  Then 
we  were  under  it,  for  the  river  was  low,  and  the  dingy- 
uniformed  officer  was  bowing  over  our  passports  beneath 
the  awning.  We  walked  ashore,  Monsieur  Vigo  and  I, 
and  we  joined  a  staring  group  of  keel  boatmen  and  river- 
men  under  the  willows. 

Below  us,  the  white  shell  walks  of  the  Place  d'Armes 
were  thronged  with  gayly  dressed  people.  Over  their 
heads  rose  the  fine  new  Cathedral,  built  by  the  munificence 
of  Don  Andreas  Almonaster,  and  beside  that  the  many- 

473 


474  THE  CROSSING 

windowed,  heavy-arched  Cabildo,  nearly  finished,  which 
will  stand  for  all  time  a  monument  to  Spanish  builders. 

"  It  is  Corpus  Christi  day,"  said  Monsieur  Vigo;  "  let  us 
go  and  see  the  procession." 

Here  once  more  were  the  bright-turbaned  negresses, 
the  gay  Creole  gowns  and  scarfs,  the  linen-jacketed,  broad- 
hatted  merchants,  with  those  of  soberer  and  more  conven 
tional  dress,  laughing  and  chatting,  the  children  playing 
despite  the  heat.  Many  of  these  people  greeted  Monsieur 
Vigo.  There  were  the  saturnine,  long-cloaked  Spaniards, 
too,  and  a  greater  number  than  I  had  believed  of  my  own 
keen-faced  countrymen  lounging  about,  mildly  amused  by 
the  scene.  We  crossed  the  square,  and  with  the  courtesy 
of  their  race  the  people  made  way  for  us  in  the  press;  and 
we  were  no  sooner  placed  ere  the  procession  came  out  of 
the  church.  Flaming  soldiers  of  the  Governor's  guard, 
two  by  two ;  sober,  sandalled  friars  in  brown,  priests  in 
their  robes,  —  another  batch  of  color  ;  crosses  shimmering, 
tapers  emerging  from  the  cool  darkness  within  to  pale  by 
the  light  of  day.  Then  down  on  their  knees  to  Him  who 
sits  high  above  the  yellow  haze  fell  the  thousands  in  the 
Place  d'Armes.  For  here  was  the  Host  itself,  flower- 
decked  in  white  and  crimson,  its  gold-tasselled  canopy 
upheld  by  four  tonsured  priests,  a  sheen  of  purple  under 
it,  —  the  Bishop  of  Louisiana  in  his  robes. 

"  The  Governor  !  "  whispered  Monsieur  Vigo,  and  the 
word  was  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  as  the  people  rose 
from  their  knees.  Frangois  Louis  Hector,  Baron  de  Ca- 
rondelet,  resplendent  in  his  uniform  of  colonel  in  the 
royal  army  of  Spain,  his  orders  glittering  on  his  breast,  — 
pillar  of  royalty  and  enemy  to  the  Rights  of  Man  !  His 
eye  was  stern,  his  carriage  erect,  but  I  seemed  to  read  in 
his  careworn  face  the  trials  of  three  years  in  this  moist 
capital.  After  the  Governor,  one  by  one,  the  waiting 
Associations  fell  in  line,  each  with  its  own  distinguishing 
sash.  So  the  procession  moved  off  into  the  narrow  streets 
of  the  city,  the  people  in  the  Place  dispersed  to  new 
vantage  points,  and  Monsieur  Vigo  signed  me  to  follow 
him. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  HONEYCOMBED  TILES    475 

"  I  have  a  frien',  la  veuve  Gravois,  who  lives  ver'  quiet. 
She  have  one  room,  and  I  ask  her  tek  you  in,  Davy."  He 
led  the  way  through  the  empty  Rue  Chartres,  turned  to 
the  right  at  the  Rue  Bienville,  and  stopped  before  an  un 
pretentious  house  some  three  doors  from  the  corner. 
Madame  Gravois,  elderly,  wizened,  primp  in  a  starched 
cotton  gown,  opened  the  door  herself,  fell  upon  Monsieur 
Vigo  in  the  Creole  fashion ;  and  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
I  was  installed  in  her  best  room,  which  gave  out  on  a  little 
court  behind.  Monsieur  Vigo  promised  to  send  his  ser 
vant  with  my  baggage,  told  me  his  address,  bade  me  call 
on  him  for  what  I  wanted,  and  took  his  leave. 

First,  there  was  Madame  Gravois'  story  to  listen  to  as 
she  bustled  about  giving  orders  to  a  kinky-haired  negro 
girl  concerning  my  dinner.  Then  came  the  dinner,  excel 
lent  —  if  I  could  have  eaten  it.  The  virtues  of  the  former 
Monsieur  Gravois  were  legion.  He  had  come  to  Louisiana 
from  Toulon,  planted  indigo,  fought  a  duel,  and  Madame 
was  a  widow.  So  I  condense  two  hours  into  two  lines. 
Happily,  Madame  was  not  proof  against  the  habits  of  the 
climate,  and  she  retired  for  her  siesta.  I  sought  my  room, 
almost  suffocated  by  a  heat  which  defies  my  pen  to  de 
scribe,  a  heat  reeking  with  moisture  sucked  from  the  foul 
kennels  of  the  city.  I  had  felt  nothing  like  it  in  my 
former  visit  to  New  Orleans.  It  seemed  to  bear  down 
upon  my  brain,  to  clog  the  power  of  thought,  to  make  me 
vacillating.  Hitherto  my  reasoning  had  led  me  to  seek 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre\  to  count  upon  that  gentleman's 
common  sense  and  his  former  friendship.  But  now  that 
the  time  had  come  for  it,  I  shrank  from  such  a  meeting. 
I  remembered  his  passionate  affection  for  Antoinette,  I 
imagined  that  he  would  not  listen  calmly  to  one  who  was 
in  some  sort  connected  with  her  unhappiness.  So  a  kind 
of  cowardice  drove  me  first  to  Mrs.  Temple.  She  might 
know  much  that  would  save  me  useless  trouble  and 
blundering. 

The  shadows  of  tree-top,  thatch,  and  wall  were  length 
ening  as  I  walked  along  the  Rue  Bourbon.  Heedless  of 
what  the  morrow  might  bring  forth,  the  street  was  given 


476  THE   CROSSING 

over  to  festivity.  Merry  groups  were  gathered  on  the 
corners,  songs  and  laughter  mingled  in  the  court-yards, 
billiard  balls  clicked  in  the  cabarets.  A  fat,  jolly  little 
Frenchman,  surrounded  by  tripping  children,  sat  in  his 
doorway  on  the  edge  of  the  banquette,  fiddling  with  all  his 
might,  pausing  only  to  wipe  the  beads  of  perspiration  from 
his  face. 

"  Madame  Clive,  mais  oui,  Monsieur,  V  petite  maison  en 
face"  Smiling  benignly  at  the  children,  he  began  to 
fiddle  once  more. 

The  little  house  opposite  !  Mrs.  Temple,  mistress  of 
Temple  Bow,  had  come  to  this  !  It  was  a  strange  little 
home  indeed,  Spanish,  one-story,  its  dormers  hidden  by  a 
honeycombed  screen  of  terra-cotta  tiles.  This  screen 
was  set  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  roof  which  overhung 
the  banquette  and  shaded  the  yellow  adobe  wall  of  the 
house.  Low,  unpretentious,  the  latticed  shutters  of  its 
two  windows  giving  it  but  a  scant  air  of  privacy,  —  indeed, 
they  were  scarred  by  the  raps  of  careless  passers-by  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  two  little  battened  doors,  one  step  up, 
were  closed.  I  rapped,  waited,  and  rapped  again.  The 
musician  across  the  street  stopped  his  fiddling,  glanced  at 
me,  smiled  knowingly  at  the  children;  and  they  paused  in 
their  dance  to  stare.  Then  one  of  the  doors  was  pushed 
open  a  scant  four  inches,  a  scarlet  madras  handkerchief 
appeared  in  the  crack  above  a  yellow  face.  There  was  a 
long  moment  of  silence,  during  which  I  felt  the  scrutiny 
of  a  pair  of  sharp,  black  eyes. 

"  What  yo'  want,  Marse  ?  " 

The  woman's  voice  astonished  me,  for  she  spoke  the 
dialect  of  the  American  tide-water. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Mrs.  Clive,"  I  answered. 

The  door  closed  a  shade. 

"  Mistis  sick,  she  ain't  see  nobody,"  said  the  woman. 
She  closed  the  door  a  little  more,  and  I  felt  tempted  to 
put  my  foot  in  the  crack. 

"  Tell  her  that  Mr.  David  Ritchie  is  here,"  I  said. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  then  an  exclamation. 

"Lan'  sakes,  is  you  Marse  Dave?"     She   opened   the 


THE  HOUSE   OF  THE  HONEYCOMBED  TILES    477 

door  —  furtively,  I  thought  —  just  wide  enough  for  me  to 
pass  through.  I  found  myself  in  a  low-ceiled,  darkened 
room,  opposite  a  trim  negress  who  stood  with  her  arms 
akimbo  and  stared  at  me. 

"  Marse  Dave,  you  doan  rec'lect  me.  I'se  Lindy,  I'se 
Breed's  daughter.  I  rec'lect  you  when  you  was  at  Temple 
Bow.  Marse  Dave,  how  you'se  done  growed  !  Yassir, 
when  I  heerd  from  Miss  Sally  I  done  corned  here  to  tek 
cyar  ob  her." 

"  How  is  your  mistress  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  po'ly,  Marse  Dave,"  said  Lindy,  and  paused  for 
adequate  words.  I  took  note  of  this  darky  who,  faithful 
to  a  family,  had  come  hither  to  share  her  mistress's 
exile  and  obscurity.  Lindy  was  spare,  energetic,  force 
ful  —  and,  I  imagined,  a  discreet  guardian  indeed  for  the 
unfortunate.  "  She  po'ly,  Marse  Dave,  an'  she  ain'  neb- 
ber  leabe  dis  year  house.  Marse  Dave,"  said  Lindy 
earnestly,  lowering  her  voice  and  taking  a  step  closer  to 
me,  "  I  done  reckon  de  Mistis  gwine  ter  die  ob  lonesome- 
ness.  She  des  sit  dar  an'  brood,  an'  brood  —  an'  she  use'  ter 
de  bes'  company,  to  de  quality.  No,  sirree,  Marse  Dave, 
she  ain'  nebber  sesso,  but  she  tink  'bout  de  young  Marsa 
night  an'  day.  Marse  Dave  ?  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Marse  Dave,  she  have  a  lil  pink  frock  dat  Marsa  Nick 
had  when  he  was  a  bebby.  I  done  cotch  Mistis  lookin'  at 
it,  an'  she  hid  it  when  she  see  me  an'  blush  like  'twas  a 
sin.  Marse  Dave  ?  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  said  again. 

"  Where  am  de  young  Marsa  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Lindy,"  I  answered. 

Lindy  sighed. 

"  She  done  talk  'bout  you,  Marse  Dave,  an*  how  good 
you  is  —  " 

"  And  Mrs.  Temple  sees  no  one,"  I  asked. 

"  Dar's  one  lady  come  hyar  ebery  week,  er  French  lady, 
but  she  speak  English  jes'  like  the  Mistis.  Dat's  my 
fault,"  said  Lindy,  showing  a  line  of  white  teeth. 

"  Your  fault,"  I  exclaimed. 


478  THE  CROSSING 

"  Yassir.  When  I  coined  here  from  Caroliny  de  Mistis 
done  tole  me  not  ter  let  er  soul  in  hyah.  One  day  erbout 
three  mont's  ergo,  dis  yer  lady  come  en  she  des  wheedled 
me  ter  let  her  in.  She  was  de  quality,  Marse  Dave,  and 
I  was  des'  afeard  not  ter.  I  declar'  I  hatter.  Hush," 
said  Lindy,  putting  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  "dar's  de 
Mistis  !  "  ' 

The  door  into  the  back  room  opened,  and  Mrs.  Temple 
stood  on  the  threshold,  staring  with  uncertain  eyes  into 
the  semi-darkness. 

"  Lindy,"  she  said,  "  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sally  —  "  Lindy  began,  and  looked  at  me.  But 
I  could  not  speak  for  looking  at  the  lady  in  the  doorway. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  said  again,  and  her  hand  sought  the 
door-post  tremblingly.  "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

Then  I  went  to  her.  At  my  first  step  she  gave  a  little 
cry  and  swayed,  and  had  I  not  taken  her  in  my  arms  I 
believe  she  would  have  fallen. 

"  David  !  "  she  said,  "  David,  is  it  you  ?  I  —  I  cannot 
see  very  well.  Why  did  you  not  speak  ?  "  She  looked  at 
Lindy  and  smiled.  "  It  is  because  I  am  an  old  woman, 
Lindy,"  and  she  lifted  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  "  See, 
my  hair  is  white  —  I  shock  you,  David." 

Leaning  on  my  shoulder,  she  led  me  through  a  little 
bedroom  in  the  rear  into  a  tiny  garden  court  beyond,  a 
court  teeming  with  lavish  colors  and  redolent  with  the 
scent  of  flowers.  A  white  shell  walk  divided  the  garden 
and  ended  at  the  door  of  a  low  outbuilding,  from  the 
chimney  of  which  blue  smoke  curled  upward  in  the  even 
ing  air.  Mrs.  Temple  drew  me  almost  fiercely  towards  a 
bench  against  the  adobe  wall. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  said.    "  Where  is  he,  David  ?  " 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  staggered  me;  I  hesitated. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered. 

I  could  not  look  into  her  face  and  say  it.  The  years 
of  torment  and  suffering  were  written  there  in  characters 
not  to  be  mistaken.  Sarah  Temple,  the  beauty,  was  dead 
indeed.  The  hope  which  threatened  to  light  again  the 
dead  fires  in  the  woman's  eyes  frightened  me. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  HONEYCOMBED   TILES    479 

"  Ah,"  she  said  sharply,  "  you  are  deceiving  me.  It  is 
not  like  you,  David.  You  are  deceiving  me.  Tell  me, 
tell  me,  for  the  love  of  God,  who  has  brought  me  to  bear 
chastisement."  And  she  gripped  my  arm  with  a  strength 
I  had  not  thought  in  her. 

"  Listen,"  I  said,  trying  to  calm  myself  as  well  as  her. 
"Listen,  Mrs.  Temple."  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  call 
her  otherwise. 

"You  are  keeping  him  away  from  me,"  she  cried. 
"  Why  are  you  keeping  him  away  ?  Have  I  not  suffered 
enough  ?  David,  I  cannot  live  long.  I  do  not  dare  to  die 
—  until  he  has  forgiven  me." 

I  forced  her,  gently  as  I  might,  to  sit  on  the  bench,  and 
I  seated  myself  beside  her. 

"  Listen,"  I  said,  with  a  sternness  that  hid  my  feelings, 
and  perforce  her  expression  changed  again  to  a  sad  yearn 
ing,  "  you  must  hear  me.  And  you  must  trust  me,  for  I 
have  never  pretended.  You  shall  see  him  if  it  is  in  my 
power." 

She  looked  at  me  so  piteously  that  I  was  near  to  being 
unmanned. 

"  I  will  trust  you,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  have  seen  him,"  I  said.  She  started  violently,  but  I 
laid  my  hand  on  hers,  and  by  some  self-mastery  that  was 
still  in  her  she  was  silent.  "  I  saw  him  in  Louisville  a 
month  ago,  when  I  returned  from  a  year's  visit  to  Phila 
delphia."  I  could  not  equivocate  with  this  woman,  I  could 
no  more  lie  to  her  sorrow  than  to  the  Judgment.  Why 
had  I  not  foreseen  her  question  ? 

"  And  he  hates  me  ?  "  She  spoke  with  a  calmness  now 
that  frightened  me  more  than  her  agitation  had  done. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered  ;  "  when  I  would  have 
spoken  to  him  he  was  gone." 

"  He  was  drunk,"  she  said.  I  stared  at  her  in  frightened 
wonderment.  "He  was  drunk  —  it  is  better  than  if  he 
had  cursed  me.  He  did  not  mention  me  ?  Or  any  one  ?  " 

"  He  did  not,"  I  answered. 

She  turned  her  face  away. 

"  Go  on,  I  will  listen  to  you,"  she  said,  and  sat  immov 


480  THE  CROSSING 

able  through  the  whole  of  my  story,  though  her  hand 
trembled  in  mine.  And  while  I  live  I  hope  never  to  have 
such  a  thing  to  go  through  with  again.  Truth  held  me  to 
the  full,  ludicrous  tragedy  of  the  tale,  to  the  cheap  charac 
ter  of  my  old  Colonel's  undertaking,  to  the  incident  of  the 
drum,  to  the  conversation  in  my  room.  Likewise,  truth 
forbade  me  to  rekindle  her  hope.  I  did  not  tell  her  that 
Nick  had  come  with  St.  Gre  to  New  Orleans,  for  of  this 
my  own  knowledge  was  as  yet  not  positive.  For  a  long 
time  after  I  had  finished  she  was  silent. 

"  And  you  think  the  expedition  will  not  get  here  ?  "  she 
asked  finally,  in  a  dead  voice. 

"  I  am  positive  of  it,"  I  answered,  "  and  for  the  sake  of 
those  who  are  engaged  in  it,  it  is  mercifully  best  that  it 
should  not.  The  day  may  come,"  I  added,  for  the  sake  of 
leading  her  away,  "  when  Kentucky  will  be  strong  enough 
to  overrun  Louisiana.  But  not  now." 

She  turned  to  me  with  a  trace  of  her  former  fierceness. 

"  Why  are  you  in  New  Orleans  ?  "  she  demanded. 

A  sudden  resolution  came  to  me  then. 

"  To  bring  you  back  with  me  to  Kentucky,"  I  answered. 
She  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  I  continued  :  "  I  have  more 
to  say.  I  am  convinced  that  neither  Nick  nor  you  will  be 
happy  until  you  are  mother  and  son  again.  You  have 
both  been  wanderers  long  enough." 

Once  more  she  turned  away  and  fell  into  a  revery. 
Over  the  housetop,  from  across  the  street,  came  the  gay 
music  of  the  fiddler.  Mrs.  Temple  laid  her  hand  gently 
on  my  shoulder. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  I  could  not  live  for  the 
journey." 

"  You  must  live  for  it,"  I  answered.  "  You  have  the 
will.  You  must  live  for  it,  for  his  sake." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  at  me  with  a  courage 
which  was  the  crown  of  her  sufferings. 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,  David,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  not 
like  you.  Come,"  she  said,  rising  with  something  of  her 
old  manner,  "  I  must  show  you  what  I  have  been  doing  all 
these  years.  You  must  admire  my  garden." 


THE  HOUSE   OF  THE  HONEYCOMBED  TILES    481 

I  followed  her,  marvelling,  along  the  shell  path,  and 
there  came  unbidden  to  my  mind  the  garden  at  Temple 
Bow,  where  she  had  once  been  wont  to  sit,  tormenting  Mr. 
Mason  or  bending  to  the  tale  of  Harry  Riddle's  love. 
Little  she  cared  for  flowers  in  those  days,  and  now  they 
had  become  her  life.  With  such  thoughts  in  my  mind, 
I  listened  unheeding  to  her  talk.  The  place  was  formerly 
occupied  by  a  shiftless  fellow,  a  tailor  ;  and  the  court,  now 
a  paradise,  had  been  a  rubbish  heap.  That  orange  tree 
which  shaded  the  uneven  doorway  of  the  kitchen  she  had 
found  here.  Figs,  pomegranates,  magnolias  ;  the  camel 
lias  dazzling  in  their  purity ;  the  blood-red  oleanders  ; 
the  pink  roses  that  hid  the  crumbling  adobe  and  climbed 
even  to  the  sloping  tiles,  —  all  these  had  been  set  out  and 
cared  for  with  her  own  hands.  Ay,  and  the  fragrant  bed 
of  yellow  jasmine  over  which  she  lingered,  —  Antoinette's 
favorite  flower. 

Antoinette's  flowers  that  she  wore  in  her  hair  !  In 
her  letters  Mrs.  Temple  had  never  mentioned  Antoinette, 
and  now  she  read  the  question  (perchance  purposely  put 
there)  in  my  eyes.  Her  voice  faltered  sadly.  Scarce  a 
week  had  she  been  in  the  house  before  Antoinette  had 
found  her. 

"I  —  I  sent  the  girl  away,  David.  She  came  without 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre's  knowledge,  without  his  consent.  It 
is  natural  that  he  thinks  me  —  I  will  not  say  what.  I  sent 
Antoinette  away.  She  clung  to  me,  she  would  not  go,  and 
I  had  to  be  —  cruel.  It  is  one  of  the  things  which  make 
the  nights  long  —  so  long.  My  sins  have  made  her  life 
unhappy." 

"  And  you  hear  of  her  ?     She  is  not  married  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  she  is  not  married,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  stooping 
over  the  jasmines.  Then  she  straightened  and  faced  me, 
her  voice  shaken  with  earnestness.  "  David,  do  you  think 
that  Nick  still  loves  her  ?  " 

Alas,  I  could  not  answer  that.  She  bent  over  the  jas 
mines  again. 

"  There  were  five  years  that  I  knew  nothing,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  I  did  not  dare  ask  Mr.  Clark,  who  comes  to  me 
2i 


482  THE  CROSSING 

on  business,  as  you  know.  It  was  Mr.  Clark  who  brought 
back  Lindy  on  one  of  his  trips  to  Charleston.  And  then, 
one  day  in  March  of  this  year,  Madame  de  Montmery 
came." 

"  Madame  de  Montmery  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  It  is  a  strange  story,"  said  Mrs.  Temple.  "  Lindy  had 
never  admitted  any  one,  save  Mr.  Clark.  One  day  early  in 
the  spring,  when  I  was  trimming  my  roses  by  the  wall  there, 
the  girl  ran  to  me  and  said  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  me. 
Why  had  she  let  her  in  ?  Lindy  did  not  know,  she  could 
not  refuse  her.  Had  the  lady  demanded  admittance  ? 
Lindy  thought  that  I  would  like  to  see  her.  David,  it  was 
a  providential  weakness,  or  curiosity,  that  prompted  me  to 
go  into  the  front  room,  and  then  I  saw  why  Lindy  had 
opened  the  door  to  her.  Who  she  is  or  what  she  is  I  do 
not  know  to  this  day.  Who  am  I  now  that  I  should  in 
quire  ?  I  know  that  she  is  a  lady,  that  she  has  exquisite 
manners,  that  I  feel  now  that  I  cannot  live  without  her. 
She  comes  every  week,  sometimes  twice,  she  brings  me 
little  delicacies,  new  seeds  for  my  garden.  But,  best  of  all, 
she  brings  me  herself,  and  I  am  always  counting  the  days 
until  she  comes  again.  Yes,  and  I  always  fear  that  she, 
too,  will  be  taken  away  from  me." 

I  had  not  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  but  Mrs.  Temple 
turned,  startled,  and  looked  towards  the  house.  I  fol 
lowed  her  glance,  and  suddenly  I  knew  that  my  heart  was 
beating. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MADAME   LA  VICOMTESSE 

HESITATING  on  the  step,  a  lady  stood  in  the  vine-covered 
doorway,  a  study  in  black  and  white  in  a  frame  of  pink 
roses.  The  sash  at  her  waist,  the  lace  mantilla  that  clung 
about  her  throat,  the  deftly  coiled  hair  with  its  sheen  of 
the  night  waters  —  these  in  black.  The  simple  gown  — a 
tribute  to  the  art  of  her  countrywomen  —  in  white. 

Mrs.  Temple  had  gone  forward  to  meet  her,  but  I  stood 
staring,  marvelling,  forgetful,  in  the  path.  They  were 
talking,  they  were  coming  towards  me,  and  I  heard  Mrs. 
Temple  pronounce  my  name  and  hers  —  Madame  de  Mont- 
mery.  I  bowed,  she  courtesied.  There  was  a  baffling  light 
in  the  lady's  brown  eyes  when  I  dared  to  glance  at  them, 
and  a  smile  playing  around  her  mouth.  Was  there  no 
word  in  the  two  languages  to  find  its  way  to  my  lips  ? 
Mrs.  Temple  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  David  is  not  what  one  might  call  a  ladies'  man,  Ma 
dame,"  she  said. 

The  lady  laughed. 

44  Isn't  he  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  frighten  him  with  your  wit," 
answered  Mrs.  Temple,  smiling.  "  He  is  worth  sparing." 

44  He  is  worth  frightening,  then,"  said  the  lady,  in 
exquisite  English,  and  she  looked  at  me  again. 

44  You  and  David  should  like  each  other,"  said  Mrs. 
Temple ;  "  you  are  both  capable  persons,  friends  of  the 
friendless  and  towers  of  strength  to  the  weak." 

The  lady's  face  became  serious,  but  still  there  was  the 
expression  I  could  not  make  out.  In  an  instant  she  seemed 
to  have  scrutinized  me  with  a  precision  from  which  there 
could  be  no  appeal. 

483 


484  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  seem  to  know  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said,  and  added 
quickly  :  "  Mrs.  Olive  has  talked  a  great  deal  about  you. 
She  has  made  you  out  a  very  wonderful  person." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  "the  wonderful  people 
of  this  world  are  those  who  find  time  to  comfort  and  help 
the  unfortunate.  That  is  why  you  and  David  are  wonder 
ful.  No  one  knows  better  than  I  how  easy  it  is  to  be  selfish." 

"  I  have  brought  you  an  English  novel,"  said  Madame 
de  Montomery,  turning  abruptly  to  Mrs.  Temple.  "  But 
you  must  not  read  it  at  night.  Lindy  is  not  to  let  you 
have  it  until  to-morrow." 

"  There,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  gayly,  to  me,  "  Madame  is 
not  happy  unless  she  is  controlling  some  one,  and  I  am  a 
rebellious  subject." 

"  You  have  not  been  taking  care  of  yourself,"  said  Ma 
dame.  She  glanced  at  me,  and  bit  her  lips,  as  though  guess 
ing  the  emotion  which  my  visit  had  caused.  "  Listen,"  she 
said,  "  the  vesper  bells  !  You  must  go  into  the  house,  and 
Mr.  Ritchie  and  I  must  leave  you." 

She  took  Mrs.  Temple  by  the  arm  and  led  her,  unresist 
ing,  along  the  path.  I  followed,  a  thousand  thoughts  and 
conjectures  spinning  in  my  brain.  They  reached  the  bench 
under  the  little  tree  beside  the  door,  and  stood  talking  for 
a  moment  of  the  routine  of  Mrs.  Temple's  life.  Madame, 
it  seemed,  had  prescribed  a  regimen,  and  meant  to  have 
it  followed.  Suddenly  I  saw  Mrs.  Temple  take  the  lady's 
arm,  and  sink  down  upon  the  bench.  Then  we  were  both 
beside  her,  bending  over  her,  she  sitting  upright  and  smil 
ing  at  us. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said  ;  "  I  am  so  easily  tired." 

Her  lips  were  ashen,  and  her  breath  came  quickly. 
Madame  acted  with  that  instant  promptness  which  I 
expected  of  her. 

"  You  must  carry  her  in,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said  quietly. 

"No,  it  is  only  momentary,  David,"  said  Mrs.  Temple. 
I  remember  how  pitifully  frail  and  light  she  was  as  I 
picked  her  up  and  followed  Madame  through  the  door 
way  into  the  little  bedroom.  I  laid  Mrs.  Temple  on  the 
bed. 


A    LADY    STOOD    IN    THE    VINE-COVERED    DOORWAY.'' 


MADAME  LA  VICOMTESSE  485 

"  Send  Lindy  here,"  said  Madame. 

Lindy  was  in  the  front  room  with  the  negress  whom 
Madame  had  brought  with  her.  They  were  not  talking. 
I  supposed  then  this  was  because  Lindy  did  not  speak 
French.  I  did  not  know  that  Madame  de  Montme"ry's 
maid  was  a  mute.  Both  of  them  went  into  the  bedroom, 
and  I  was  left  alone.  The  door  and  windows  were  closed, 
and  a  green  myrtle-berry  candle  was  burning  on  the  table. 
I  looked  about  me  with  astonishment.  But  for  the  low 
ceiling  and  the  wide  cypress  puncheons  of  the  floor  the 
room  might  have  been  a  boudoir  in  a  manor-house.  On 
the  slender-legged,  polished  mahogany  table  lay  books  in 
tasteful  bindings  ;  a  diamond-paned  bookcase  stood  in 
the  corner  ;  a  fauteuil  and  various  other  chairs  which 
might  have  come  from  the  hands  of  an  Adam  were 
ranged  about.  Tall  silver  candlesticks  graced  each  end 
of  the  little  mantel-shelf,  and  between  them  were  two 
Lowestoft  vases  having  the  Temple  coat  of  arms. 

It  might  nave  been  half  an  hour  that  I  waited,  now 
pacing  the  floor,  now  throwing  myself  into  the  arm-chair 
by  the  fireplace.  Anxiety  for  Mrs.  Temple,  problems 
that  lost  themselves  in  a  dozen  conjectures,  all  idle  — 
these  agitated  me  almost  beyond  my  power  of  self-con 
trol.  Once  I  felt  for  the  miniature,  took  it  out,  and  put 
it  back  without  looking  at  it.  At  last  I  was  startled  to 
my  feet  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  Madame  de 
Montmery  came  in.  She  closed  the  door  softly  behind 
her,  with  the  deft  quickness  and  decision  of  movement 
which  a  sixth  sense  had  told  me  she  possessed,  crossed 
the  room  swiftly,  and  stood  confronting  me. 

"  She  is  easy  again,  now,"  she  said  simply.  "  It  is  one 
of  her  attacks.  I  wish  you  might  have  seen  me  before 
you  told  her  what  you  had  to  say  to  her." 

"I  wish  indeed  that  I  had  known  you  were  here." 

She  ignored  this,  whether  intentionally,  I  know  not. 

"  It  is  her  heart,  poor  lady  I  I  am  afraid  she  cannot 
live  long."  She  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  straight 
chairs.  "Sit  down,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said;  "I  am  glad 
you  waited.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you." 


486  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  thought  that  you  might,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  I 
answered. 

She  made  no  gesture,  either  of  surprise  or  displeasure. 

"  So  you  knew,"  she  said  quietly. 

"I  knew  you  the  moment  you  appeared  in  the  door 
way,"  I  replied.  It  was  not  just  what  I  meant  to  say. 

There  flashed  over  her  face  that  expression  of  the 
miniature,  the  mouth  repressing  the  laughter  in  the 
brown  eyes. 

"  Montmery  is  one  of  my  husband's  places,"  she  said. 
"  When  Antoinette  asked  me  to  come  here  and  watch 
over  Mrs.  Temple,  I  chose  the  name." 

"And  Mrs.  Temple  has  never  suspected  you?" 

"I  think  not.  She  thinks  I  came  at  Mr.  Clark's 
request.  And  being  a  lady,  she  does  not  ask  questions. 
She  accepts  me  for  what  I  appear  to  be." 

It  seemed  so  strange  to  me  to  be  talking  here  in  New 
Orleans,  in  this  little  Spanish  house,  with  a  French  vicom- 
tesse  brought  up  near  the  court  of  the  unfortunate  Marie 
Antoinette ;  nay,  with  Helene  de  St.  Gre,  whose  portrait 
had  twice  come  into  my  life  by  a  kind  of  strange  fatality 
(and  was  at  that  moment  in  my  pocket),  that  I  could 
scarce  maintain  my  self-possession  in  her  presence.  I 
had  given  the  portrait,  too,  attributes  and  a  character, 
and  I  found  myself  watching  the  lady  with  a  breathless 
interest  lest  she  should  fail  in  any  of  these.  In  the  inti 
macy  of  the  little  room  I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  her 
always,  and  again,  that  she  was  as  distant  from  me  and 
my  life  as  the  court  from  which  she  had  come.  I  found 
myself  glancing  continually  at  her  face,  on  which  the 
candle-light  shone.  The  Vicomtesse  might  have  been 
four  and  twenty.  Save  for  the  soberer  gown  she  wore, 
she  seemed  scarce  older  than  the  young  girl  in  the  minia 
ture  who  had  the  presence  of  a  woman  of  the  world. 
Suddenly  I  discovered  with  a  flush  that  she  was  looking 
at  me  intently,  without  embarrassment,  but  with  an 
expression  that  seemed  to  hint  of  humor  in  the  situation. 
To  my  astonishment,  she  laughed  a  little. 

"  You  are  a  very  odd  person,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said. 


MADAME  LA  VICOMTESSE  487 

"  I  have  heard  so  much  of  you  from  Mrs.  Temple,  from 
Antoinette,  that  I  know  something  of  your  strange  life. 
After  all,"  she  added  with  a  trace  of  sadness,  "  it  has 
been  no  stranger  than  my  own.  First  I  will  answer  your 
questions,  and  then  I  shall  ask  some." 

"  But  I  have  asked  no  questions,  Madame  la  Vicom- 
tesse,"  I  said. 

"  And  you  are  a  very  simple  person,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  con 
tinued  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  smiling ;  "  it  is  what  I  had 
been  led  to  suppose.  A  serious  person.  As  the  friend 
of  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple,  as  the  relation  and  (may  I  say?) 
benefactor  of  this  poor  lady  here,  it  is  fitting  that  you 
should  know  certain  things.  I  will  not  weary  you  with 
the  reasons  and  events  which  led  to  my  coming  from 
Europe  to  New  Orleans,  except  to  say  that  I,  like  all  of 
my  class  who  have  escaped  the  horrors  of  the  Revolution, 
am  a  wanderer,  and  grateful  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Grd  for 
the  shelter  he  gives  me.  His  letter  reached  me  in  Eng 
land,  and  I  arrived  three  months  ago." 

She  hesitated  —  nay,  I  should  rather  say  paused,  for 
there  was  little  hesitation  in  what  she  did.  She  paused, 
as  though  weighing  what^  she  was  to  say  next. 

"  When  I  came  to  Les  lies  I  saw  that  there  was  a  sorrow 
weighing  upon  the  family ;  and  it  took  no  great  astuteness 
on  my  part,  Mr.  Ritchie,  to  discover  that  Antoinette  was 
the  cause  of  it.  One  has  only  to  see  Antoinette  to  love 
her.  I  wondered  why  she  had  not  married.  And  yet  I 
saw  that  there  had  been  an  affair.  It  seemed  very  strange 
to  me,  Mr.  Ritchie,  for  with  us,  you  understand,  marriages 
are  arranged.  Antoinette  really  has  beauty,  she  is  the 
daughter  of  a  man  of  importance  in  the  colony,  her  strength 
of  character  saves  her  from  being  listless.  I  found  a  girl 
with  originality  of  expression,  with  a  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things,  devoted  to  charitable  works,  who  had  not  taken 
the  veil.  That  was  on  her  father's  account.  As  you  know, 
they  are  inseparable.  Monsieur  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  is  a 
remarkable  man,  with  certain  vigorous  ideas  not  in  accord 
ance  with  the  customs  of  his  neighbors.  It  was  he  who 
first  confided  in  me  that  he  would  not  force  Antoinette 


488  THE  CROSSING 

to  marry ;  it  was  she,  at  length,  who  told  me  the  story  of 
Nicholas  Temple  and  his  mother."  She  paused  again, 
and,  reading  between  the  lines,  I  perceived  that  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  had  become  essential  to  the  household  at 
Les  lies.  Philippe  de  St.  Ore*  was  not  a  man  to  misplace 
a  confidence. 

"  It  was  then  that  I  first  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,  and  of 
the  part  which  you  played  in  that  affair.  It  was  then  I 
had  my  first  real  insight  into  Antoinette's  character.  Her 
affection  for  Mrs.  Temple  astonished  me,  bewildered  me. 
The  woman  had  deceived  her  and  her  family,  and  yet 
Antoinette  gave  up  her  lover  because  he  would  not  take 
his  mother  back.  Had  Mrs.  Temple  been  willing  to  return 
to  Les  lies  after  you  had  providentially  taken  her  away, 
they  would  have  received  her.  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  is  not 
a  man  to  listen  to  criticism.  As  it  was,  Antoinette  did 
not  rest  until  she  found  where  Mrs.  Temple  had  hidden 
herself,  and  then  she  came  here  to  her.  It  is  not  for  us 
to  judge  any  of  them.  In  sending  Antoinette  away  the 
poor  lady  denied  herself  the  only  consolation  that  was  left 
to  her.  Antoinette  understood.  Every  week  she  has  had 
news  of  Mrs.  Temple  from  Mr.  Clark.  And  when  I  came 
and  learned  her  trouble,  Antoinette  begged  me  to  come 
here  and  be  Mrs.  Temple's  friend.  Mr.  Ritchie,  she  is 
a  very  ill  woman  and  a  very  sad  woman,  —  the  saddest 
woman  I  have  ever  known,  and  I  have  seen  many." 

"  And  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Tell  me  about  this  man  for  whom  Antoinette  has 
ruined  her  life,"  said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  brusquely. 
"  Is  he  worth  it  ?  No,  no  man  is  worth  what  she  has 
suffered.  What  has  become  of  him?  Where  is  he?  Did 
you  not  tell  her  that  you  would  bring  him  back  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  I  would  bring  him  back  if  I  could,"  I 
answered,  "and  I  meant  it,  Madame." 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  bit  her  lip.  Had  she  known  me 
better,  she  might  have  smiled.  As  for  me,  I  was  wholly 
puzzled  to  account  for  these  fleeting  changes  in  her  humor. 

"  You  have  taken  a  great  deal  upon  your  shoulders,  Mr. 
Ritchie,"  she  said.  "They  are  from  all  accounts  broad 


MADAME  LA  VICOMTESSE  489 

ones.  There,  I  was  wrong  to  be  indignant  in  your  pres 
ence, —  you  who  seem  to  have  spent  your  life  in  trying  to 
get  others  out  of  difficulties.  Mercy,"  she  said,  with  a 
quick  gesture  at  my  protest,  "there  are  few  men  with 
whom  one  might  talk  thus  in  so  short  an  acquaintance.  I 
love  the  girl,  and  I  cannot  help  being  angry  with  Mr. 
Temple.  I  suppose  there  is  something  to  be  said  on  his 
side.  Let  us  hear  it  —  I  dare  say  he  could  not  have  a 
better  advocate,"  she  finished,  with  an  indefinable  smile. 

I  began  at  the  wrong  end  of  my  narrative,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  I  had  my  facts  arranged  in  proper 
sequence.  I  could  not  forget  that  Madame  la  Vicomtesse 
was  looking  at  me  fixedly.  I  reviewed  Nick's  neglected 
childhood;  painted  as  well  as  I  might  his  temperament 
and  character  —  his  generosity  and  fearlessness,  his  reck 
lessness  and  improvidence.  His  loyalty  to  those  he  loved, 
his  detestation  of  those  he  hated.  I  told  how,  under 
these  conditions,  the  sins  and  vagaries  of  his  parents  had 
gone  far  to  wreck  his  life  at  the  beginning  of  it.  I  told 
how  I  had  found  him  again  with  Sevier,  how  he  had  come 
to  New  Orleans  with  me  the  first  time,  how  he  had  loved 
Antoinette,  and  how  he  had  .disappeared  after  the  dreadful 
scene  in  the  garden  at  Les  lies,  how  I  had  not  seen  him 
again  for  five  years.  Here  I  hesitated,  little  knowing  how 
to  tell  the  Vicomtesse  of  that  affair  in  Louisville.  Though 
I  had  a  sense  that  I  could  not  keep  the  truth  from  so  dis 
cerning  a  person,  I  was  startled  to  find  this  to  be  so. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  she  said  quickly.  "  And  in 
the  morning  he  had  flown  with  that  most  worthy  of  my  rela 
tives,  Auguste  de  St.  Gre." 

I  looked  at  her,  finding  no  words  to  express  my  astonish 
ment  at  this  perspicacity. 

"  And  now  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Find  him  in  New  Orleans,  if  you  can,  of  course.  But 
how  ?  "  She  rose  quickly,  went  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  with  her  back  to  me.  Suddenly  she  turned. 
"It  ought  not  to  be  difficult,  after  all.  Auguste  de  St. 
Gre  is  a  fool,  and  he  confirms  what  you  say  of  the  expe 
dition.  He  is,  indeed,  a  pretty  person  to  choose  for  an 


490  THE  CROSSING 

intrigue  of  this  kind.  And  your  cousin,  —  what  shall  we 
call  him  ?  " 

"To  say  the  least,  secrecy  is  not  Nick's  forte,"  I 
answered,  catching  her  mood. 

She  was  silent  awhile. 

"  It  would  be  a  blessing  if  Monsieur  le  Baron  could  hang 
Auguste  privately.  As  for  your  cousin,  he  may  be  worth 
saving,  after  all.  I  know  Monsieur  de  Carondelet,  and  he 
has  no  patience  with  conspirators  of  this  sort.  I  think  he 
would  not  hesitate  to  make  examples  of  them.  However, 
we  will  try  to  save  them." 

"  We  !  "  I  repeated  unwittingly. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  looked  at  me  and  laughed  out 
right. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  will  do  some  things,  I  others. 
There  are  the  gaming  clubs  with  their  ridiculous  names, 
L1  Amour,  La  Mignonne,  La  DSsirSe  "  (she  counted  them 
reflectively  on  her  fingers).  "  Both  of  our  gentlemen 
might  be  tempted  into  one  of  these.  You  will  drop  into 
them,  Mr.  Ritchie.  Then  there  is  Madame  Bouvet's." 

"  Auguste  would  scarcely  go  there,"  I  objected. 

"Ah,"  said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  "but  Madame 
Bouvet  will  know  the  names  of  some  of  Auguste's  inti 
mates.  This  Bouvet  is  evidently  a  good  person,  perhaps 
she  will  do  more  for  you.  I  understand  that  she  has  a 
weak  spot  in  her  heart  for  Auguste." 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  turned  her  back  again.  Had 
she  heard  how  Madame  Bouvet  had  begged  me  to  buy 
the  miniature  ? 

"  Have  you  any  other  suggestions  to  make  ?  "  she  said, 
putting  a  foot  on  the  fender. 

"  They  have  all  been  yours,  so  far,"  I  answered. 

"  And  yet  you  are  a  man  of  action,  of  expedients,"  she 
murmured,  without  turning.  "  Where  are  your  wits,  Mr. 
Ritchie  ?  Have  you  any  plan  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  so  used  to  rely  on  myself,  Madame,"  I 
replied. 

"  That  you  do  not  like  to  have  your  affairs  meddled 
with  by  a  woman,"  she  said,  into  the  fireplace. 


MADAME  LA  VICOMTESSE  491 

"  I  give  you  the  credit  to  believe  that  you  are  too  clever 
to  misunderstand  me,  Madame,"  I  said.  "You  must 
know  that  your  help  is  most  welcome." 

At  that  she  swung  around  and  regarded  me  strangely, 
mirth  lurking  in  her  eyes.  She  seemed  about  to  retort, 
and  then  to  conquer  the  impulse.  The  effect  of  this  was 
to  make  me  anything  but  self-complacent.  She  sat  down 
in  the  chair  and  for  a  little  while  she  was  silent. 

"  Suppose  we  do  find  them,"  she  said  suddenly.  "  What 
shall  we  do  with  them  ?  "  She  looked  up  at  me  question- 
ingly,  seriously.  "  Is  it  likely  that  your  Mr.  Temple  will 
be  reconciled  with  his  mother  ?  Is  it  likely  that  he  is  still 
in  love  with  Antoinette  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  likely  that  he  is  still  in  love  with  Made 
moiselle  de  St.  Gre,"  I  answered,  "  though  I  have  no  reason 
for  saying  so." 

"  You  are  very  honest,  Mr.  Ritchie.  We  must  look  at 
this  problem  from  all  sides.  If  he  is  not  reconciled  with 
his  mother,  Antoinette  will  not  receive  him.  And  if  he 
is,  we  have  the  question  to  consider  whether  he  is  still 
worthy  of  her.  The  agents  of  Providence  must  not  be 
heedless,"  she  added  with  a  smile. 

"  I  am  sure  that  Nick  would  alter  his  life  if  it  became 
worth  living,"  I  said.  "  I  will  answer  for  that  much." 

"  Then  he  must  be  reconciled  with  his  mother,"  she 
replied  with  decision.  "  Mrs.  Temple  has  suffered  enough. 
And  he  must  be  found  before  he  gets  sufficiently  into  the 
bad  graces  of  the  Baron  de  Carondelet,  —  these  two  things 
are  clear."  She  rose.  "  Come  here  to-morrow  evening  at 
the  same  time." 

She  started  quickly  for  the  bedroom  door,  but  something 
troubled  me  still. 

"  Madame  —  "I  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  turning  quickly. 

I  did  not  know  how  to  begin.  There  were  many  things 
I  wished  to  say,  to  know,  but  she  was  a  woman  whose 
mind  seemed  to  leap  the  chasms,  whose  words  touched 
only  upon  those  points  which  might  not  be  understood. 
She  regarded  me  with  seeming  patience. 


492  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  should  think  that  Mrs.  Temple  might  have  recog 
nized  you,"  I  said,  for  want  of  a  better  opening. 

"  From  the  miniature  ?  "  she  said. 

I  flushed  furiously,  and  it  seemed  to  burn  me  through 
the  lining  of  my  pocket. 

"  That  was  my  salvation,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Temple  has 
never  seen  the  miniature.  I  have  heard  how  you  rescued 
it,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  added,  with  a  curious  smile.  "  Mon 
sieur  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  told  me." 

"  Then  he  knew  ?  "  I  stammered. 

She  laughed. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  you  are  a  very  simple  person," 
she  said.  "  Even  you  are  not  given  to  intrigues.  I  thank 
you  for  rescuing  me." 

I  flushed  more  hotly  than  before. 

"  I  never  expected  to  see  you,"  I  said. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  shock,"  she  said. 

I  was  dumb.  I  had  my  hand  in  my  coat ;  I  fully  in 
tended  to  give  her  the  miniature.  It  was  my  plain  duty. 
And  suddenly,  overwhelmed,  I  remembered  that  it  was 
wrapped  in  Polly  Ann's  silk  handkerchief. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  remained  for  a  moment  where 
she  was. 

"Do  not  do  anything  until  the  morning,"  she  said. 
"You  must  go  back  to  your  lodgings  at  once." 

"  That  would  be  to  lose  time,"  I  answered. 

"  You  must  think  of  yourself  a  little,"  she  said.  "  Do 
as  I  say.  I  have  heard  that  two  cases  of  the  yellow  fever 
have  broken  out  this  afternoon.  And  you,  who  are  not 
used  to  the  climate,  must  not  be  out  after  dark." 

"  And  you  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  am  used  to  it,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  have  been  here  three 
months.  Lest  anything  should  happen,  it  might  be  well 
for  you  to  give  me  your  address." 

"I  am  with  Madame  Gravois,  in  the  Rue  Bienville." 

"  Madame  Gravois,vin  the  Rue  Bienville,"  she  repeated. 
"  I  shall  remember.  A  demain,  Monsieur."  She  courtesied 
and  went  swiftly  into  Mrs.  Temple's  room.  Seizing  my 
hat,  I  opened  the  door  and  found  myself  in  the  dark  street. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DISPOSAL  OP  THE  SIEUR   DE  ST.    ORE 

I  HAD  met  Helene  de  St.  Gre  at  last.  And  what  a  fool 
she  must  think  me !  As  I  hurried  along  the  dark  ban 
quettes  this  thought  filled  my  brain  for  a  time  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  all  others,  so  strongly  is  vanity  ingrained  in  us. 
After  all,  what  did  it  matter  what  she  thought,  —  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  d'lvry-le-Tour?  I  had  never  shone,  and  it 
was  rather  late  to  begin.  But  I  possessed,  at  least,  average 
common  sense,  and  I  had  given  no  proof  even  of  this. 

I  wandered  on,  not  heeding  the  command  which  she 
had  given  me,  —  to  go  home.  The  scent  of  camellias  and 
magnolias  floated  on  the  heavy  air  of  the  night  from 
the  court-yards,  reminding  me  of  her.  Laughter  and  soft 
voices  came  from  the  galleries.  Despite  the  Terror, 
despite  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  despite  the  Rights 
of  Man  and  the  wars  and  suffering  arising  therefrom, 
despite  the  scourge  which  might  come  to-morrow,  life 
went  gayly  on.  The  cabarets  echoed,  and  behind  the 
tight  blinds  lines  of  light  showed  where  the  Creole  gentry 
gamed  at  their  tables,  perchance  in  the  very  clubs  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  had  mentioned. 

The  moon,  in  her  first  quarter,  floated  in  a  haze. 
Washed  by  her  light,  the  quaintly  wrought  balconies  and 
heavy-tiled  roofs  of  the  Spanish  buildings,  risen  from  the 
charred  embers,  took  on  a  touch  of  romance.  I  paused 
once  with  a  twinge  of  remembrance  before  the  long  line 
of  the  Ursuline  convent,  with  its  latticed  belfry  against 
the  sky.  There  was  the  lodge,  with  its  iron  gates  shut, 
and  the  wall  which  Nick  had  threatened  to  climb.  As  I 
passed  the  great  square  of  the  new  barracks,  a  sereno  (so  the 
night  watchmen  were  called)  was  crying  the  hour.  I  came 

493 


494 


THE  CROSSING 


to  the  rambling  market-stalls,  casting  black  shadows  on  the 
river  road,  —  empty  now,  to  be  filled  in  the  morning  with 
shouting  marchands.  The  promenade  under  the  willows 
was  deserted,  the  great  river  stretched  away  under  the 
moon  towards  the  forest  line  of  the  farther  shore,  filmy 
and  indistinct.  A  black  wisp  of  smoke  rose  from  the  gun 
wale  of  a  flatboat,  and  I  stopped  to  listen  to  the  weird  song 
of  a  negro,  which  I  have  heard  many  times  since. 


In,     de",    tois,   Ca  -  ro  -  line, 


,  comine 


ma  che"re  ? 


In,      de",      tois,     Ca  -  ro  -  line, 


Quo 


2 


3 

fair     t'  -  ape's    cri    -    6     ma  che"re  ?  Mo      1'  -  aime"  toe" 


to 


con-n6     ga,     C'est    to  m'ou-1^,      c'est    to  moprend,     Mo 

=}=: 


•=id-tj3=H 


^. ^r 


* 


,     to    con-ne*  ca  -  a  c'est  to  m'oul^c'est  to  moprend. 


Gaining  the  promenade,  I  came  presently  to  the  new 
hotel  which  had  been  built  for  the  Governor,  with  its 
balconied  windows  looking  across  the  river  —  the  mansion 
of  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Carondelet.  Even  as  I  sat  on 
the  bench  in  the  shadow  of  the  willows,  watching  the 
sentry  who  paced  before  the  arched  entrance,  I  caught 
sight  of  a  man  stealing  along  the  banquette  on  the  other 


THE  DISPOSAL   OF  THE  SIEUR  DE  ST.   Gftfi    495 

side  of  the  road.  Twice  he  paused  to  look  behind  him,  and 
when  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  street  he  stopped  for 
some  time  to  survey  the  Governor's  house  opposite. 

Suddenly  I  was  on  my  feet,  every  sense  alert,  staring. 
In  the  moonlight,  made  milky  by  the  haze,  he  was  indis 
tinct.  And  yet  I  could  have  taken  oath  that  the  square, 
diminutive  figure,  with  the  head  set  forward  on  the  shoul 
ders,  was  Gignoux's.  If  this  man  were  not  Gignoux,  then 
the  Lord  had  cast  two  in  a  strange  mould. 

And  what  was  Gignoux  doing  in  New  Orleans?  As  if 
in  answer  to  the  question  two  men  emerged  from  the  dark 
archway  of  the  Governor's  house,  passed  the  sentry,  and 
stood  for  an  instant  on  the  edge  of  the  shadow.  One 
wore  a  long  Spanish  cloak,  and  the  other  a  uniform  that  I 
could  not  make  out.  A  word  was  spoken,  and  then  my 
man  was  ambling  across  to  meet  them,  and  the  three 
walked  away  up  Toulouse  Street. 

I  was  in  a  fire  of  conjecture.  I  did  not  dare  to  pass 
the  sentry  and  follow  them,  so  I  made  round  as  fast  as 
I  could  by  the  Rue  St.  Pierre,  which  borders  the  Place 
d'Armes,  and  then  crossed  to  Toulouse  again  by  Chartres. 
The  three  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  I  paused  on  the 
corner  for  thought,  and  at  length  came  to  a  reluctant  but 
prudent  conclusion  that  I  had  best  go  back  to  my  lodging 
and  seek  Monsieur  early  in  the  morning. 

Madame  Gravois  was  awaiting  me.  Was  Monsieur  mad 
to  remain  out  at  night  ?  Had  Monsieur  not  heard  of  the 
yellow  fever?  Madame  Gravois  even  had  prepared  some 
concoction  which  she  poured  out  of  a  bottle,  and  which 
I  took  with  the  docility  of  a  child.  Monsieur  Vigo  had 
called,  and  there  was  a  note.  A  note  ?  It  was  a  small  note. 
I  glanced  stupidly  at  the  seal,  recognized  the  swan  of  the 
St.  Gre  crest,  broke  it,  and  read  :  — 

"Mr.  Ritchie  will  confer  a  favor  upon  la  Vicomtesse 
tflvry-le-Tour  if  he  will  come  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gf-re's 
house  at  eight  to-morrow  morning" 

I  bade  the  reluctant  Madame  Gravois  good  night,  gained 
my  room,  threw  off  my  clothes,  and  covered  myself  with 


496  THE  CROSSING 

the  mosquito  bar.  There  was  no  question  of  sleep,  for  the 
events  of  the  day  and  surmises  for  the  morrow  tortured 
me  as  I  tossed  in  the  heat.  Had  the  man  been  Gignoux  ? 
If  so,  he  was  in  league  with  Carondelet's  police.  I  believed 
him  fully  capable  of  this.  And  if  he  knew  Nick's  where 
abouts  and  St.  Gre's,  they  would  both  be  behind  the  iron 
gateway  of  the  calabozo  in  the  morning.  Monsieur  Vigo 
had  pointed  out  to  me  that  day  the  gloomy,  heavy-walled 
prison  in  the  rear  of  the  Cabildo,  — ay,  and  he  had  spoken 
of  its  instruments  of  torture. 

What  could  the  Vicomtesse  want?  Truly  (I  thought 
with  remorse)  she  had  been  more  industrious  than  I. 

I  fell  at  length  into  a  fevered  sleep,  and  awoke,  athirst, 
with  the  light  trickling  through  my  lattices.  Contrary  to 
Madame  Gravois's  orders,  I  had  opened  the  glass  of  my 
window.  Glancing  at  my  watch,  —  which  I  had  bought 
in  Philadelphia,  —  I  saw  that  the  hands  pointed  to  half 
after  seven.  I  had  scarcely  finished  my  toilet  before  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Madame  Gravois  entered 
with  a  steaming  cup  of  coffee  in  one  hand  and  her  bottle 
of  medicine  in  the  other. 

"  I  did  not  wake  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  for  he  was 
tired." 

She  gave  me  another  dose  of  the  medicine,  made  me 
drink  two  cups  of  coffee,  and  then  I  started  out  with  all 
despatch  for  the  House  of  the  Lions.  As  I  turned  into 
the  Rue  Chartres  I  saw  ahead  of  me  four  horses,  with  their 
bridles  bunched  and  held  by  a  negro  lad,  waiting  in  the 
street.  Yes,  they  were  in  front  of  the  house.  There  it 
was,  with  its  solid  green  gates  between  the  lions,  its  yellow 
walls  with  the  fringe  of  peeping  magnolias  and  oranges, 
with  its  green-latticed  gallery  from  which  Monsieur 
Auguste  had  let  himself  down  after  stealing  the  minia 
ture.  I  knocked  at  the  wicket,  the  same  gardienne  answered 
the  call,  smiled,  led  me  through  the  cool,  paved  archway 
which  held  in  its  frame  the  green  of  the  court  beyond, 
and  up  the  stairs  with  the  quaint  balustrade  which  I  had 
mounted  five  years  before  to  meet  Philippe  de  St.  Gre.  As 
I  reached  the  gallery  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  gov/ned  in 


THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE   SIEUR  DE   ST.   GElC    497 

brown  linen  for  riding,  rose  quickly  from  her  chair  and 
came  forward  to  meet  me. 

"  You  have  news?  "  I  asked,  as  I  took  her  hand. 

"  I  have  the  kind  of  news  I  expected,"  she  answered, 
a  smile  tempering  the  gravity  of  her  face ;  "  Auguste  is, 
as  usual,  in  need  of  money." 

"Then  you  have  found  them,"  I  answered,  my  voice 
betraying  my  admiration  for  the  feat. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly. 

"  I  did  nothing,"  she  said.  "  From  what  you  told  me, 
I  suspected  that  as  soon  as  Auguste  reached  Louisiana  he 
would  have  a  strong  desire  to  go  away  again.  This  is 
undoubtedly  what  has  happened.  In  any  event,  I  knew 
that  he  would  want  money,  and  that  he  would  apply  to  a 
source  which  has  hitherto  never  failed  him." 

"Mademoiselle  Antoinette  !  "  I  said. 

"  Precisely,"  answered  Madame  la  Vicomtesse.  "  When 
I  reached  home  last  night  I  questioned  Antoinette,  and 
I  discovered  that  by  a  singular  chance  a  message  from 
Auguste  had  already  reached  her." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied.  A"  But  he  will  be  behind 
the  hedge  of  the  garden  at  Les  lies  at  eleven  o'clock  — 
unless  he  has  lost  before  then  his  love  of  money." 

"  Which  is  to  say  —  " 

"  He  will  be  there  unless  he  is  dead.  That  is  why  I 
sent  for  you,  Monsieur."  She  glanced  at  me.  "Some 
times  it  is  convenient  to  have  a  man." 

I  was  astounded.  Then  I  smiled,  the  affair  was  so 
ridiculously  simple. 

"And  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Has  been  gone  for  a  week  with  Madame  to  visit  the 
estimable  Monsieur  Poydras  at  Pointe  Coupee."  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse,  who  had  better  use  for  her  words  than  to 
waste  them  at  such  a  time,  left  me,  went  to  the  balcony, 
and  began  to  give  the  gardienne  in  the  court  below  swift 
directions  in  French.  Then  she  turned  to  me  again. 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  ride  with  Antoinette  and  me  to 
Les  lies,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  asked. 

2K 


498  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  am,"  I  answered. 

It  must  have  been  my  readiness  that  made  her  smile. 
Then  her  eyes  rested  on  mine. 

"You  look  tired,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said.  "You  did 
not  obey  me  and  go  home  last  night." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ? "  I  asked,  with  a  thrill  at 
her  interest. 

"  Because  Madame  Gravois  told  my  messenger  that  you 
were  out." 

I  was  silent. 

"You  must  take  care  of  yourself,"  she  said  briefly. 
"  Come,  there  are  some  things  which  I  wish  to  say  to  you 
before  Antoinette  is  ready." 

She  led  me  toward  the  end  of  the  gallery,  where  a  bright 
screen  of  morning-glories  shaded  us  from  the  sun.  But  we 
had  scarce  reached  the  place  ere  the  sound  of  steps  made 
us  turn,  and  there  was  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  herself 
facing  us.  I  went  forward  a  few  steps,  hesitated,  and 
bowed.  She  courtesied,  my  name  faltering  on  her  lips. 
Yes,  it  was  Antoinette,  not  the  light-hearted  girl  whom  we 
had  heard  singing  "  Ma  luron  "  in  the  garden,  but  a  woman 
now  with  a  strange  beauty  that  astonished  me.  Hers  was 
the  dignity  that  comes  from  unselfish  service,  the  calm 
that  is  far  from  resignation,  though  the  black  veil  caught 
up  on  her  chapeau  de  paille  gave  her  the  air  of  a  Sister 
of  Mercy.  Antoinette  had  inherited  the  energies  as  well 
as  the  features  of  the  St.  Gres,  yet  there  was  a  painful 
moment  as  she  stood  there,  striving  to  put  down  the  agita 
tion  the  sight  of  me  gave  her.  As  for  me,  I  was  bereft  of 
speech,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  how  far  to  go.  My 
last  thought  was  of  the  remarkable  quality  in  this  woman 
before  me  which  had  held  her  true  to  Mrs.  Temple,  and 
which  sent  her  so  courageously  to  her  duty  now. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  as  I  had  hoped,  relieved  the 
situation.  She  knew  how  to  broach  a  dreaded  subject. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  is  going  with  us,  Antoinette,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  perhaps  best  to  explain  everything  to  him  before 
we  start.  I  was  about  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  con 
tinued,  turning  to  me,  "  that  Auguste  has  given  no  hint 


THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE  SIEUR  DE  ST.   GEE"     499 

in  his  note  of  Mr.  Temple's  presence  in  Louisiana.  And 
yet  you  told  me  that  they  were  to  have  come  here  together." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  and  I  have  no  reason  to  think  they 
have  separated." 

"  I  was  merely  going  to  suggest,"  said  the  Vicomtesse, 
firmly,  "  I  was  merely  going  to  suggest  the  possibility  of 
our  meeting  Mr.  Temple  with  Auguste." 

It  was  Antoinette  who  answered,  with  a  force  that 
revealed  a  new  side  of  her  character. 

"Mr.  Temple  will  not  be  there,"  she  said,  flashing  a 
glance  upon  us.  "Do  you  think  he  would  come  to  me — ?" 

Helene  laid  her  hand  upon  the  girl's  arm. 

"  My  dear,  I  think  nothing,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  but  it 
is  best  for  us  to  be  prepared  against  any  surprise.  Remem 
ber  that  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Temple,  and  that  you  have 
not  seen  him  for  five  years." 

"It  is  not  like  him,  you  know  it  is  not  like  him," 
exclaimed  Antoinette,  looking  at  me. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  like  him,  Mademoiselle,"  I  replied. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  from  behind  the  girl,  gave  me 
a  significant  look. 

"  This  occurred  to  me,"  she  went  on  in  an  undisturbed 
tone,  "  that  Mr.  Temple  might  come  with  Auguste  to  pro 
test  against  the  proceeding,  —  or  even  to  defend  himself 
against  the  imputation  that  he  was  to  make  use  of  this 
money  in  any  way.  I  wish  you  to  realize,  Antoinette, 
before  you  decide  to  go,  that  you  may  meet  Mr.  Temple. 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  let  Mr.  Ritchie  go  alone  ?  I  am 
sure  that  we  could  find  no  better  emissary." 

"  Auguste  is  here,"  said  Antoinette.  "  I  must  see  him." 
Her  voice  caught.  "  I  may  never  see  him  again.  He  may 
be  ill,  he  may  be  starving  —  and  I  know  that  he  is  in 
trouble.  Whether"  (her  voice  caught)  "whether  Mr. 
Temple  is  with  him  or  not,  I  mean  to  go." 

"  Then  it  would  be  well  to  start,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

Deftly  dropping  her  veil,  she  picked  up  a  riding  whip 
that  lay  on  the  railing  and  descended  the  stairs  to  the  court 
yard.  Antoinette  and  I  followed.  As  we  came  through 
the  archway  I  saw  Andre,  Monsieur  de  St.  Ore's  mulatto, 


500  THE   CROSSING 

holding  open  the  wicket  for  us  to  pass.  He  helped  the 
ladies  to  mount  the  ponies,  lengthened  my  own  stirrups 
for  me,  swung  into  the  saddle  himself,  and  then  the  four 
of  us  were  picking  our  way  down  the  Rue  Chartres  at  an 
easy  amble.  Turning  to  the  right  beyond  the  cool  garden 
of  the  Ursulines,  past  the  yellow  barracks,  we  came  to  the 
river  front  beside  the  fortifications.  A  score  of  negroes 
were  sweating  there  in  the  sun,  swinging  into  position  the 
long  logs  for  the  palisades,  nearly  completed.  They  were 
like  those  of  Kaskaskia  and  our  own  frontier  forts  in  Ken 
tucky,  with  a  forty-foot  ditch  in  front  of  them.  Seated  on 
a  horse  talking  to  the  overseer  was  a  fat  little  man  in  white 
linen  who  pulled  off  his  hat  and  bowed  profoundly  to  the 
ladies.  His  face  gave  me  a  start,  and  then  I  remembered 
that  I  had  seen  him  only  the  day  before,  resplendent,  com 
ing  out  of  church.  He  was  the  Baron  de  Carondelet. 

There  was  a  sentry  standing  under  a  crape-myrtle  where 
the  Royal  Road  ran  through  the  gateway.  Behind  him 
was  a  diminutive  five-sided  brick  fort  with  a  dozen  little 
cannon  on  top  of  it.  The  sentry  came  forward,  brought 
his  musket  to  a  salute,  and  halted  before  my  horse. 

"You  will  have  to  show  your  passport,"  murmured 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 

I  drew  the  document  from  my  pocket.  It  was  signed 
by  De  Lemos,  and  duly  countersigned  by  the  officer  of  the 
port.  The  man  bowed,  and  I  passed  on. 

It  was  a  strange,  silent  ride  through  the  stinging  heat 
to  Les  lies,  the  brown  dust  hanging  behind  us  like  a  cloud, 
to  settle  slowly  on  the  wayside  shrubbery.  Across  the 
levee  bank  the  river  was  low,  listless,  giving  off  hot  breath 
like  a  monster  in  distress.  The  forest  pools  were  cracked 
and  dry,  the  Spanish  moss  was  a  haggard  gray,  and  under 
the  sun  was  the  haze  which  covered  the  land  like  a  saffron 
mantle.  At  times  a  listlessness  came  over  me  such  as  I 
had  never  known,  to  make  me  forget  the  presence  of  the 
women  at  my  side,  the  very  errand  on  which  we  rode. 
From  time  to  time  I  was  roused  into  admiration  of  the  horse 
manship  of  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  for  the  restive  Texas 
pony  which  she  rode  was  stung  to  madness  by  the  flies. 


THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE   SIEUK,  DE  ST.   GEE"     501 

As  for  Antoinette,  she  glanced  neither  right  nor  left 
through  her  veil,  but  rode  unmindful  of  the  way,  heedless 
of  heat  and  discomfort,  erect,  motionless  save  for  the  easy 
gait  of  her  horse.  At  length  we  turned  into  the  avenue 
through  the  forest,  lined  by  wild  orange  trees,  came  in 
sight  of  the  low,  belvedered  plantation  house,  and  drew 
rein  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  Antoinette  was  the  first  to 
dismount,  and  passed  in  silence  through  the  group  of  sur 
prised  house  servants  gathering  at  the  door.  I  assisted 
the  Vicomtesse,  who  paused  to  bid  the  negroes  disperse, 
and  we  lingered  for  a  moment  on  the  gallery  together. 

"  Poor  Antoinette  !  "  she  said,  "  I  wish  we  might  have 
saved  her  this."  She  looked  up  at  me.  "How  she  de 
fended  him  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  She  loves  him,"  I  answered. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  sighed. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  help  for  it,"  she  said.  "  But  it 
is  very  difficult  not  to  be  angry  with  Mr.  Temple.  The 
girl  cared  for  his  mother,  gave  her  a  home,  clung  to  her 
when  he  and  the  world  would  have  cast  her  off,  sacrificed 
her  happiness  for  them  both.  If  I  see  him,  I  believe  I 
shall  shake  him.  And  if  he  doesn't  fall  down  on  his  knees 
to  her,  I  shall  ask  the  Baron  to  hang  him.  We  must 
bring  him  to  his  senses,  Mr.  Ritchie.  He  must  not  leave 
Louisiana  until  he  sees  her.  Then  he  will  marry  her." 
She  paused,  scrutinized  me  in  her  quick  way,  and  added : 
"  You  see  that  I  take  your  estimation  of  his  character. 
You  ought  to  be  flattered." 

"  I  am  flattered  by  any  confidence  you  repose  in  me, 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse." 

She  laughed.  I  was  not  flattered  then,  but  cursed  my 
self  for  the  quaint  awkwardness  in  my  speech  that  amused 
her.  And  she  was  astonishingly  quick  to  perceive  my 
moods. 

"  There,  don't  be  angry.  You  will  never  be  a  courtier, 
my  honest  friend,  and  you  may  thank  God  for  it.  How 
sweet  the  shrubs  are  !  Your  chief  business  in  life  seems 
to  be  getting  people  out  of  trouble,  and  I  am  going  to  help 
you  with  this  case." 


602  THE  CROSSING 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh. 

"  You  are  going  to  help  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  My  services 
have  been  heavy,  so  far." 

"You  should  not  walk  around  at  night,"  she  replied 
irrelevantly. 

Suddenly  I  remembered  Gignoux,  but  even  as  I  was 
about  to  tell  her  of  the  incident  Antoinette  appeared  in 
the  doorway.  She  was  very  pale,  but  her  lips  were  set 
with  excitement  and  her  eyes  shone  strangely.  She  was 
still  in  her  riding  gown,  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  leather 
bag,  and  behind  her  stood  Andre  with  a  bundle. 

"  Quick  !  "  she  said ;  "we  are  wasting  time,  and  he  may 
be  gone." 

Checking  an  exclamation  which  could  hardly  have  been 
complimentary  to  Auguste,  the  Vicomtesse  crossed  quickly 
to  her  and  put  her  arm  about  her. 

" We  will  follow  you,  mignonne"  she  said  in  French. 

"  Must  you  come  ?  "  said  Antoinette,  appealingly.  "  He 
may  not  appear  if  he  sees  any  one." 

"  We  shall  have  to  risk  that,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  dryly, 
with  a  glance  at  me.  "  You  shall  not  go  alone,  but  we  will 
wait  a  few  moments  at  the  hedge." 

We  took  the  well-remembered  way  through  the  golden- 
green  light  under  the  trees,  Antoinette  leading,  and  the 
sight  of  the  garden  brought  back  to  me  poignantly  the 
scene  in  the  moonlight  with  Mrs.  Temple.  There  was  no 
sound  save  the  languid  morning  notes  of  the  birds  and  the 
humming  of  the  bees  among  the  flowers  as  Antoinette  went 
tremblingly  down  the  path  and  paused,  listening,  under 
the  branches  of  that  oak  where  I  had  first  beheld  her. 
Then,  with  a  little  cry,  we  saw  her  run  forward  —  into 
the  arms  of  Auguste  de  St.  Gre.  It  was  a  pitiful  thing 
to  look  upon. 

Antoinette  had  led  her  brother  to  the  seat  under  the 
oak.  How  long  we  waited  I  know  not,  but  at  length  we 
heard  their  voices  raised,  and  without  more  ado  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse,  beckoning  me,  passed  quickly  through  the 
gap  in  the  hedge  and  went  towards  them.  I  followed 
with  Andre.  Auguste  rose  with  an  oath,  and  then  stood 


THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE  SIEUR  DE   ST.   GKE"     503 

facing  his  cousin  like  a  man  struck  dumb,  his  hands 
dropped.  He  was  a  sorry  sight  indeed,  unshaven,  un 
kempt,  dark  circles  under  his  eyes,  clothes  torn. 

"  Helene  !  You  here  —  in  America !  "  he  cried  in  French, 
staring  at  her. 

"  Yes,  Auguste,"  she  replied  quite  simply,  "  I  am  here." 
He  would  have  come  towards  her,  but  there  was  a  note  in 
her  voice  which  arrested  him. 

"  And  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  —  Henri  ?  "  he  said. 

I  found  myself  listening  tensely  for  the  answer. 

"  Henri  is  in  Austria,  fighting  for  his  King,  I  hope," 
said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 

"  So  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  is  a  refugee,"  he  said  with 
a  bow  and  a  smile  that  made  me  very  angry. 

"  And  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  ?  "  I  asked. 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice  he  started  and  gave  back,  for 
he  had  not  perceived  me.  He  recovered  his  balance,  such 
as  it  was,  instantly. 

"  Monsieur  seems  to  take  an  extraordinary  interest  in 
my  affairs,"  he  said  jauntily. 

"  Only  when  they  are  to  the  detriment  of  other  persons 
who  are  my  friends,"  I  said. 

"Monsieur  has  intruded  in  a  family  matter,"  said  Au 
guste,  grandly,  still  in  French. 

"  By  invitation  of  those  most  concerned,  Monsieur,"  I 
answered,  for  I  could  have  throttled  him. 

Auguste  had  developed.  He  had  learned  well  that 
effrontery  is  often  the  best  weapon  of  an  adventurer. 
He  turned  from  me  disdainfully,  petulantly,  and  addressed 
the  Vicoratesse  once  more. 

"  I  wish  to  be  alone  with  Antoinette,"  he  said. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  I  demand  it,"  said  Auguste. 

"  The  demand  is  not  granted,"  said  the  Vicomtesse ; 
"  that  is  why  we  have  come.  Your  sister  has  already  made 
enough  sacrifices  for  you.  I  know  you,  Monsieur  Auguste 
de  St.  Gre,"  she  continued  with  quiet  contempt.  "  It  is 
not  for  love  of  Antoinette  that  you  have  sought  this  meet 
ing.  It  is  because,"  she  said,  riding  down  a  torrent  of 


504  THE  CROSSING 

words  which  began  to  escape  from  him,  "  it  is  because  you 
are  in  a  predicament,  as  usual,  and  you  need  money." 

"  Helene  !  " 

It  was  Antoinette  who  spoke.  She  had  risen,  and  was 
standing  behind  Auguste.  She  still  held  the  leather  bag 
in  her  hand. 

"Perhaps  the  sum  is  not  enough,"  she  said;  "he  has  to 
get  to  France.  Perhaps  we  could  borrow  more  until  my 
father  comes  home."  She  looked  questioningly  at  us. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  was  truly  a  woman  of  decision. 
Without  more  ado  she  took  the  bag  from  Antoinette's 
unresisting  hands  and  put  it  into  mine.  I  was  no  less 
astonished  than  the  rest  of  them. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  will  keep  this  until  the  negotiations  are 
finished,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Negotiations  !  "  cried  Auguste,  beside  himself.  "  This 
is  insolence,  Madame." 

"  Be  careful,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  Auguste  !  "  cried  Antoinette,  putting  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  them  ?  "  he  demanded,  turning  on 
her. 

"  Because  I  trust  them,  Auguste,"  Antoinette  answered. 
She  spoke  without  anger,  as  one  whose  sorrow  has  put  her 
beyond  it.  Her  speech  had  a  dignity  and  force  which 
might  have  awed  a  worthier  man.  His  disappointment 
and  chagrin  brought  him  beyond  bounds. 

"  You  trust  them  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  trust  them  when 
they  tell  you  to  give  your  brother,  who  is  starving  and 
in  peril  of  his  life,  eight  hundred  livres  ?  Eight  hundred 
livres,  pardieu,  and  your  brother !  " 

"  It  is  all  I  have,  Auguste,"  said  his  sister,  sadly. 

"  Ha  !  "  he  said  dramatically,  "  I  see,  they  seek  my  de 
struction.  This  man  "  —  pointing  at  me  —  "  is  a  Federal 
ist,  and  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  " —  he  bowed  ironically 
—  "is  a  Royalist." 

"  Pish  !  "  said  the  Vicomtesse,  impatiently,  "  it  would 
be  an  easy  matter  to  have  you  sent  to  the  Morro  —  a  word 
to  Monsieur  de  Carondelet,  Auguste.  Do  you  believe  for 


THE  DISPOSAL   OF  THE   SIEUB,  DE   ST.   GR       505 

a  moment  that,  in  your  father's  absence,  I  would  have 
allowed  Antoinette  to  come  here  alone  ?  And  it  was  a 
happy  circumstance  that  I  could  call  on  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Ritchie  to  come  with  us." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Mr.  Ritchie  and  his  friends  have 
already  brought  sufficient  misfortune  on  the  family." 

It  was  a  villanous  speech.  Antoinette  turned  away,  her 
shoulders  quivering,  and  I  took  a  step  towards  him ;  but 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse  made  a  swift  gesture,  and  I  stopped, 
I  know  not  why.  She  gave  an  exclamation  so  sharp  that 
he  flinched  physically,  as  though  he  had  been  struck.  But 
it  was  characteristic  of  her  that  when  she  began  to  speak, 
her  words  cut  rather  than  lashed. 

"  Auguste  de  St.  Gre,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you.  The 
Tribunal  is  merciful  compared  to  you.  There  is  no  one 
on  earth  whom  you  would  not  torture  for  your  selfish 
ends,  no  one  whom  you  would  not  sell  without  compunc 
tion  for  your  pleasure.  There  are  things  that  a  woman 
should  not  mention,  and  yet  I  would  tell  them  without 
shame  to  your  face  were  it  not  for  your  sister.  If  it  were 
not  for  her,  I  would  not  have  you  in  my  presence.  Shall 
I  speak  of  your  career  in  France  ?  There  is  Valenciennes, 
for  example  —  " 

She  stopped  abruptly.  The  man  was  gray,  but  not  on 
his  account  did  the  Vicomtesse  stay  her  speech.  She  for 
got  him  as  though  he  did  not  exist,  and  by  one  of  those 
swift  transitions  which  thrilled  me  had  gone  to  the  sob 
bing  Antoinette  and  taken  her  in  her  arms,  murmuring 
endearments  of  which  our  language  is  not  capable.  I, 
too,  forgot  Auguste.  But  no  rebuke,  however  stinging, 
could  make  him  forget  himself,  and  before  we  realized  it 
he  was  talking  again.  He  had  changed  his  tactics. 

"  This  is  my  home,"  he  said,  "  where  I  might  expect 
shelter  and  comfort.  You  make  me  an  outcast." 

Antoinette  disengaged  herself  from  Helene  with  a  cry, 
but  he  turned  away  from  her  and  shrugged. 

"  A  stranger  would  have  fared  better.  Perhaps  you 
will  have  more  consideration  for  a  stranger.  There  is  a 
French  ship  at  the  Terre  aux  Itoeufs  in  the  English  Turn, 


506  THE  CROSSING 

which  sails  to-night.  I  appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Ritchie,  "  —  he 
was  still  talking  in  French  —  "I  appeal  to  you,  who  are  a 
man  of  affairs,"  —  and  he  swept  me  a  bow,  —  "if  a  cap 
tain  would  risk  taking  a  fugitive  to  France  for  eight  hun 
dred  livres  ?  Pardieu,  I  could  get  no  farther  than  the 
Balize  for  that.  Monsieur,"  he  added  meaningly,  "you 
have  an  interest  in  this.  There  are  two  of  us  to  go." 

The  amazing  effrontery  of  this  move  made  me  gasp. 
Yet  it  was  neither  the  Vicomtesse  nor  myself  who  an 
swered  him.  We  turned  by  common  impulse  to  Antoi 
nette,  and  she  was  changed.  Her  breath  came  quickly,  her 
eyes  flashed,  her  anger  made  her  magnificent. 

"  It  is  not  true,"  she  cried,  "  you  know  it  is  not  true." 

He  lifted  his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

"  You  are  my  brother,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  acknowl 
edge  you.  I  was  willing  to  give  my  last  sou,  to  sell  my 
belongings,  to  take  from  the  poor  to  help  you  —  until  you 
defamed  a  good  man.  You  cannot  make  me  believe," 
she  cried,  unheeding  the  color  that  surged  into  her  cheeks, 
"you  cannot  make  me  believe  that  he  would  use  this 
money.  You  cannot  make  me  believe  it." 

"  Let  us  do  him  the  credit  of  thinking  that  he  means 
to  repay  it,"  said  Auguste. 

Antoinette's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  —  tears  of  pride, 
of  humiliation,  ay,  and  of  an  anger  of  which  I  had  not 
thought  her  capable.  She  was  indeed  a  superb  creature 
then,  a  personage  I  had  not  imagined.  Gathering  up  her 
gown,  she  passed  Auguste  and  turned  on  him  swiftly. 

"  If  you  were  to  bring  that  to  him,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  bag  in  my  hand,  "  he  would  not  so  much  as  touch 
it.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  to  the  Ursulines,  and  I  thank 
God  I  shall  never  see  you  again.  I  thank  God  I  shall  no 
longer  be  your  sister.  Give  Monsieur  the  bundle,"  she 
said  to  the  frightened  Andre",  who  still  stood  by  the  hedge  ; 
"he  may  need  food  and  clothes  for  his  journey." 

She  left  us.  We  stood  watching  her  until  her  gown  had 
disappeared  amongst  the  foliage.  Andre  came  forward 
and  held  out  the  bundle  to  Auguste,  who  took  it  mechani 
cally.  Then  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  motioned  to  Andre 


THE  DISPOSAL  OF  THE   SIEUR  DE   ST.  GR        507 

to  leave,  and  gave  me  a  glance,  and  it  was  part  of  the  deep 
understanding  of  her  I  had  that  I  took  its  meaning.  I 
had  my  forebodings  of  what  this  last  conversation  with 
Auguste  might  bring  forth,  and  I  wished  heartily  that 
we  were  rid  of  him. 

"Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,"  I  said,  "I  understood  you  to 
say  that  a  ship  is  lying  at  the  English  Turn  some  five 
leagues  below  us,  on  which  you  are  to  take  passage  at  once." 

He  turned  and  glared  at  me,  some  devilish  retort  on  his 
lips  which  he  held  back.  Suddenly  he  became  suave. 

"  I  shall  want  two  thousand  livres,  Monsieur  ;  it  was  the 
sum  I  asked  for." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  you  asked  for,"  I  answered. 

"  Since  when  did  Monsieur  assume  this  intimate  position 
in  my  family  ?  "  he  said,  glancing  at  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,""  I  replied  with  difficulty,  "  you 
will  confine  yourself  to  the  matter  in  hand.  You  are  in  no 
situation  to  demand  terms ;  you  must  take  or  leave  what  is 
offered  you.  Last  night  the  man  called  Gignoux,  who  was 
of  your  party,  was  at  the  Governor's  house." 

At  this  he  started  perceptibly. 

"  Ha,  I  thought  he  was  a  traitor,"  he  cried.  Strangely 
enough,  he  did  not  doubt  my  word  in  this. 

"  I  am  surprised  that  your  father's  house  has  not  been 
searched  this  morning,"  I  continued,  astonished  at  my  own 
moderation.  "  The  sentiments  of  the  Baron  de  Carondelet 
are  no  doubt  known  to  you,  and  you  are  aware  that  your 
family  or  your  friends  cannot  save  you  if  you  are  arrested. 
You  may  have  this  money  on  two  conditions.  The  first  is 
that  you  leave  the  province  immediately.  The  second, 
that  you  reveal  the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple." 

"  Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  he  replied,  and  added  the 
taunt,  "and  well  versed  in  the  conduct  of  affairs  of 
money." 

"Does  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  accept?"  I  asked. 

He  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  resignation. 

"  Who  am  I  to  accept  ?  "  he  said,  "  a  fugitive,  an  out 
cast.  And  I  should  like  to  remind  Monsieur  that  time 
passes." 


508  THE  CROSSING 

"  It  is  a  sensible  observation,"  said  I,  meaning  that  it 
was  the  first.  His  sudden  docility  made  me  suspicious. 
"  What  preparations  have  you  made  to  go  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  elaborate,  Monsieur,  but  they  are  com 
plete.  When  I  leave  you  I  step  into  a  pirogue  which  is 
tied  to  the  river  bank." 

"  Ah,"  I  replied.     "  And  Mr.  Temple  ?  " 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  smiled,  for  Auguste  was  fairly 
caught.  He  had  not  the  astuteness  to  be  a  rogue ;  oddly, 
he  had  the  sense  to  know  that  he  could  fool  us  no  longer. 

"  Temple  is  at  Larnarque's,"  he  answered  sullenly. 

I  glanced  questioningly  at  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Laraarque  is  an  old  pensioner  of  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre's,"  said  she  ;  "  he  has  a  house  and  an  arpent  of  land 
not  far  below  here." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Auguste,  "  and  if  Mr.  Ritchie  believes 
that  he  will  save  money  by  keeping  Mr.  Temple  in  Loui 
siana  instead  of  giving  him  this  opportunity  to  escape,  it 
is  no  concern  of  mine." 

I  reflected  a  moment  on  this,  for  it  was  another  sensible 
remark. 

"  It  is  indeed  no  concern  of  yours,"  said  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  take  it  that  there  are  no  further 
conscientious  scruples  against  my  receiving  this  paltry 
sum." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  your  pirogue,"  I  answered  ;  "when 
you  embark  you  shall  have  it." 

"  I,  too,  will  go,"  said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 

"  You  overwhelm  me  with  civility,  Madame,"  said  the 
Sieur  de  St.  Gre,  bowing  low. 

"  Lead  the  way,  Monsieur,"  I  said. 

He  took  his  bundle,  and  started  off  down  the  garden  path 
with  a  grand  air.  I  looked  at  the  Vicomtesse  inquiringly, 
and  there  was  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  show  you  the  way  to  Lamarque's."  And  then 
she  whispered,  "  You  have  done  well,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

I  did  not  return  her  look,  but  waited  until  she  took  the 


THE  DISPOSAL   OF  THE   SIEUK  DE   ST.   GEE"     509 

path  ahead  of  me.  In  silence  we  followed  Auguste  through 
the  depths  of  the  woods,  turning  here  and  there  to  avoid  a 
fallen  tree  or  a  sink-hole  where  the  water  still  remained. 
At  length  we  came  out  in  the  glare  of  the  sun  and  crossed 
the  dusty  road  to  the  levee  bank.  Some  forty  yards  below 
us  was  the  canoe,  and  we  walked  to  it,  still  in  silence. 
Auguste  flung  in  his  bundle,  and  turned  to  us. 

"  Perhaps  Monsieur  is  satisfied,"  he  said. 

I  handed  him  the  bag,  and  he  took  it  with  an  elaborate 
air  of  thankfulness.  Nay,  the  rascal  opened  it  as  if  to 
assure  himself  that  he  was  not  tricked  at  the  last.  At 
the  sight  of  the  gold  and  silver  which  Antoinette  had 
hastily  collected,  he  turned  to  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 

"  Should  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  in  France,  I  shall  assure  him  that  Madame  is  in 
good  hands  "  (he  swept  an  exultant  look  at  me)  "  and  en 
joying  herself." 

I  could  have  flung  him  into  the  river,  money-bag  and  all. 
But  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  made  him  a  courtesy  there  on 
the  levee  bank,  and  said  sweetly  :  — 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,  Auguste." 

"As  for  you,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  and  now  his  voice 
shook  with  uncontrolled  rage,  "  I  am  in  no  condition  to 
repay  your  kindnesses.  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  you 
will  not  object  to  keeping  the  miniature  a  while  longer." 

I  was  speechless  with  anger  and  shame,  and  though  I  felt 
the  eyes  of  the  Vicomtesse  upon  me,  I  dared  not  look  at  her. 
I  heard  Auguste  but  indistinctly  as  he  continued :  — 

"  Should  you  need  the  frame,  Monsieur,  you  will  doubt 
less  find  it  still  with  Monsieur  Isadore,  the  Jew,  in  the 
Rue  Toulouse."  With  that  he  leaped  into  his  boat,  seized 
the  paddle,  and  laughed  as  he  headed  into  the  current. 
How  long  I  stood  watching  him  as  he  drifted  lazily  in 
the  sun  I  know  not,  but  at  length  the  voice  of  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse  aroused  me. 

"  He  is  a  pleasant  person,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AT  LAMARQUE'S 

UNTIL  then  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  had  gotten  into  my 
brain  and  set  it  on  fire.  Her  words  had  the  strange  effect 
of  clearing  my  head,  though  I  was  still  in  as  sad  a  predica 
ment  as  ever  I  found  myself.  There  was  the  thing  in  my 
pocket,  still  wrapped  in  Polly  Ann's  handkerchief.  I 
glanced  at  the  Vicomtesse  shyly,  and  turned  away  again. 
Her  face  was  all  repressed  laughter,  the  expression  I  knew 
so  well. 

"  I  think  we  should  feel  better  in  the  shade,  Mr.  Ritchie," 
she  said  in  English,  and,  leaping  lightly  down  from  the 
bank,  crossed  the  road  again.  I  followed  her,  perforce. 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  Lamarque's,"  she  said. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  !  "  I  cried. 

Had  she  no  curiosity  ?  Was  she  going  to  let  pass  what 
Auguste  had  hinted  ?  Lifting  up  her  skirts,  she  swung 
round  and  faced  me.  In  her  eyes  was  a  calmness  more 
baffling  than  the  light  I  had  seen  there  but  a  moment 
since.  How  to  begin  I  knew  not,  and  yet  I  was  launched. 

"Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  there  was  once  a  certain  minia 
ture  painted  of  you." 

"By  Boze,  Monsieur,"  she  answered,  readily  enough. 
The  embarrassment  was  all  on  my  side.  "  We  spoke  of  it 
last  evening.  .  I  remember  well  when  it  was  taken.  It 
was  the  costume  I  wore  at  Chantilly,  and  Monsieur  le 
Prince  complimented  me,  and  the  next  day  the  painter 
himself  came  to  our  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Bretagne  and 
asked  the  honor  of  painting  me."  She  sighed.  "Ah,  those 
were  happy  days  !  Her  Majesty  was  very  angry  with  me." 

"  And  why  ?  "  I  asked,  forgetful  of  my  predicament. 

510 


AT  LAMARQUE'S  511 

"  For  sending  it  to  Louisiana,  to  Antoinette." 

"  And  why  did  you  send  it  ?  " 

"  A  whim,"  said  the  Vicomtesse.  "  I  had  always  written 
twice  a  year  either  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  or  Antoinette, 
and  although  I  had  never  seen  them,  I  loved  them.  Per 
haps  it  was  because  they  had  the  patience  to  read  my 
letters  and  the  manners  to  say  they  liked  them." 

"  Surely  not,  Madame,"  I  said.  "  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre 
spoke  often  to  me  of  the  wonderful  pictures  you  drew  of 
the  personages  at  court." 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  had  an  answer  on  the  tip  of  her 
tongue.  I  know  now  that  she  spared  me. 

"  And  what  of  this  miniature,  Monsieur  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  What  became  of  it  after  you  restored  it  to  its  rightful 
owner  ?  " 

I  flushed  furiously  and  fumbled  in  my  pocket. 

"I  obtained  it  again,  Madame,"  I  said. 

"You  obtained  it  !  "  she  cried,  I  am  not  sure  to  this 
day  whether  in  consternation  or  jest.  In  passing,  it  was 
not  just  what  I  wanted  to  say. 

"  I  meant  to  give  it  you  last  night,"  I  said. 

"  And  why  did  you  not  ?  "  she  demanded  severely. 

I  felt  her  eyes  on  me,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she 
were  looking  into  my  very  soul.  Even  had  it  been  other 
wise,  I  could  not  have  told  her  how  I  had  lived  with  this 
picture  night  and  day,  how  I  had  dreamed  of  it,  how  it 
had  been  my  inspiration  and  counsel.  I  drew  it  from  my 
pocket,  wrapped  as  it  was  in  the  handkerchief,  and  un 
covered  it  with  a  reverence  which  she  must  have  marked, 
for  she  turned  away  to  pick  a  yellow  flower  by  the  road 
side.  I  thank  Heaven  that  she  did  not  laugh.  Indeed, 
she  seemed  to  be  far  from  laughter. 

"  You  have  taken  good  care  of  it,  Monsieur,"  she  said. 
"I  thank  you." 

"  It  was  not  mine,  Madame,"  I  answered. 

"  And  if  it  had  been  ?  "  she  asked. 

It  was  a  strange  prompting. 

"  If  it  had  been,  I  could  have  taken  no  better  care  of  it,n 
I  answered,  and  I  held  it  towards  her. 


512  THE  CBOSSING 

She  took  it  simply. 

"  And  the  handkerchief  ?  "  she  said. 

"  The  handkerchief  was  Polly  Ann's,"  I  answered. 

She  stopped  to  pick  a  second  flower  that  had  grown  by 
the  first. 

"  Who  is  Polly  Ann  ?  "  she  said. 

"  When  I  was  eleven  years  of  age  and  ran  away  from 
Temple  Bow  after  my  father  died,  Polly  Ann  found  me  in 
the  hills.  When  she  married  Tom  McChesney  they  took 
me  across  the  mountains  into  Kentucky  with  them.  Polly 
Ann  has  been  more  than  a  mother  to  me." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse.  Then  she  looked 
at  me  with  a  stranger  expression  than  I  had  yet  seen  in 
her  face.  She  thrust  the  miniature  in  her  gown,  turned, 
and  walked  in  silence  awhile.  Then  she  said  :  — 

"  So  Auguste  sold  it  again?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  He  seems  to  have  found  a  ready  market  only  in  you," 
said  the  Vicomtesse,  without  turning  her  head.  "  Here 
we  are  at  Lamarque's." 

What  I  saw  was  a  low,  weather-beaten  cabin  on  the 
edge  of  a  clearing,  and  behind  it  stretched  away  in  prim 
rows  the  vegetables  which  the  old  Frenchman  had  planted. 
There  was  a  little  flower  garden,  too,  and  an  orchard. 
A  path  of  beaten  earth  led  to  the  door,  which  was  open. 
There  we  paused.  Seated  at  a  rude  table  was  Lamarque 
himself,  his  hoary  head  bent  over  the  cards  he  held  in  his 
hand.  Opposite  him  was  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple,  in  the 
act  of  playing  the  ace  of  spades.  I  think  that  it  was  the 
laughter  of  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  that  first  disturbed 
them,  and  even  then  she  had  time  to  turn  to  me. 

"  I  like  your  cousin,"  she  whispered. 

"  Is  that  you,  St.  Gre  ?  "  said  Nick.  "  I  wish  to  the 
devil  you  would  learn  not  to  sneak.  You  frighten  me. 
Where  the  deuce  did  you  go  to  ? " 

But  Lamarque  had  seen  the  lady,  stared  at  her  wildly 
for  a  moment,  and  rose,  dropping  his  cards  on  the  floor. 
He  bowed  humbly,  not  without  trepidation. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse !  "  he  said. 


AT  LAMAKQUE'S  513 

By  this  time  Nick  had  risen,  and  he,  too,  was  staring  at 
her.  How  he  managed  to  appear  so  well  dressed  was  a 
puzzle  to  me. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  bowing,  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I 
thought  you  were  that  —  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  understand  your  feelings,  sir,"  answered  the  Vicom- 
tesse  as  she  courtesied. 

"  Egad,"  said  Nick,  and  looked  at  her  again.  "  Egad, 
I'll  be  hanged  if  it's  not  —  " 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  the  Vicomtes.se  in 
confusion.  And  indeed  if  it  were  confusion  she  recovered 
instantly. 

"  You  will  probably  be  hanged,  sir,  if  you  do  not  mend 
your  company,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  not  think  so,  Mr. 
Ritchie  ?  " 

"  Davy ! "  he  cried.  And  catching  sight  of  me  in  the 
doorway,  over  her  shoulder,  "Has  he  followed  me  here 
too  ?  "  Running  past  the  Vicomtesse,  he  seized  me  in  his 
impulsive  way  and  searched  my  face.  "  So  you  have 
followed  me  here,  old  faithful  !  Madame,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  Vicomtesse,  "  there  is  some  excuse  for  my 
getting  into  trouble." 

"What  excuse,  Monsieur?"  she  asked.  She  was  smil 
ing,  yet  looking  at  us  with  shining  eyes. 

"  The  pleasure  of  having  Mr.  Ritchie  get  me  out,"  he 
answered.  "  He  has  never  failed  me." 

"  You  are  far  from  being  out  of  this,"  I  said.  "  If  the 
Baron  de  Carondelet  does  not  hang  you  or  put  you  in  the 
Morro,  you  will  not  have  me  to  thank.  It  will  be 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse  d'lvry-le-Tour." 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse !  "  exclaimed  Nick,  puzzled. 

"  May  I  present  to  you,  Madame,  Mr.  Nicholas 
Temple?"  I  asked. 

Nick  bowed,  and  she  courtesied  again. 

"  So  Monsieur  le  Baron  is  really  after  us,"  said  Nick. 
He  opened  his  eyes,  slapped  his  knee,  and  laughed.  "That 
may  account  for  the  Citizen  Captain  de  St.  Gre's  absence," 
he  said.  "  By  the  way,  Davy,  you  haven't  happened  by 
any  chance  to  meet  him  ?r 

2L 


514  THE   CROSSING 

The  Vicomtesse  and  I  exchanged  a  look  of  understand 
ing.  Relief  was  plain  on  her  face.  It  was  she  who 
answered. 

"We  have  met  him  —  by  chance,  Monsieur.  He  has 
just  left  for  Terre  aux  Bceufs" 

"Terre  aux  Bceufs!  What  the  dev —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  but  you  give  me  some 
thing  of  a  surprise.  Is  there  another  conspiracy  at  Terre 
aux  Boeufs,  or  —  does  somebody  live  there  who  has  never 
before  lent  Auguste  money  ?  " 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  laughed.  Then  she  grew  serious 
again. 

"  You  did  not  know  where  he  had  gone  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  did  not  even  know  he  had  gone,"  said  Nick.  "  Citi 
zen  Lamarque  and  I  were  having  a  little  game  of  piquet — 
for  vegetables.  Eh,  citizen  ?  " 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  laughed  again,  and  once  more 
the  shade  of  sadness  came  into  her  eyes. 

"They  are  the  same  the  world  over,"  she  said,  —  not  to 
me,  nor  yet  to  any  one  there.  And  I  knew  that  she  was 
thinking  of  her  own  kind  in  France,  who  faced  the  guillo 
tine  without  sense  of  danger.  She  turned  to  Nick.  "You 
may  be  interested  to  know,  Mr.  Temple,"  she  added, 
"  that  Auguste  is  on  his  way  to  the  English  Turn  to  take 
ship  for  France." 

Nick  regarded  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  face 
lighted  up  with  that  smile  which  won  every  one  he  met, 
which  inevitably  made  them  smile  back  at  him. 

"  The  news  is  certainly  unexpected,  Madame,"  he  said. 
"  But  then,  after  one  has  travelled  much  with  Auguste  it 
is  difficult  to  take  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  him.  Am  I 
to  be  sent  to  France,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  if  it  can  be  helped,"  replied  the  Vicomtesse,  seri 
ously.  "  Mr.  Ritchie  will  tell  you,  however,  that  you  are 
in  no  small  danger.  Doubtless  you  know  it.  Monsieur 
le  Baron  de  Carondelet  considers  that  the  intrigues  of  the 
French  Revolutionists  in  Louisiana  have  already  robbed 
him  of  several  years  of  his  life.  He  is  not  disposed  to  be 
lenient  towards  persons  connected  with  that  cause." 


AT  LAMAEQUE'S  515 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  since  you  arrived  here  on 
this  ridiculous  mission  ?  "  I  demanded  impatiently. 

"  My  cousin  is  a  narrow  man,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse," 
said  Nick.  "We  enjoy  ourselves  in  different  ways.  I 
thought  there  might  be  some  excitement  in  this  matter, 
and  I  was  sadly  mistaken." 

"  It  is  not  over  yet,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  And  Davy,"  continued  Nick,  bowing  to  me,  "  gets  his 
pleasures  and  excitement  by  extracting  me  from  my 
various  entanglements.  Well,  there  is  not  much  to  tell. 
St.  Gre  and  I  were  joined  above  Natchez  by  that  little 
pig,  Citizen  Gignoux,  and  we  shot  past  De  Lemos  in  the 
night.  Since  then  we  have  been  permitted  to  sleep  —  no 
more  —  at  various  plantations.  We  have  been  waked  up 
at  barbarous  hours  in  the  morning  and  handed  on,  as  it 
were.  They  were  all  fond  of  us,  but  likewise  they  were 
all  afraid  of  the  Baron.  What  day  is  to-day  ?  Monday  ? 
Then  it  was  on  Saturday  that  we  lost  Gignoux." 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  has  already  sold  out  to 
the  Baron,"  I  put  in. 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  in  communication  with  the  police  at  the 
Governor's  hotel  last  night,"  I  answered. 

Nick  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "that  may  make  some  excitement." 
Then  he  laughed.  "  I  wonder  why  Auguste  didn't  think 
of  doing  that,"  he  said.  "  And  now,  what  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  get  to  this  house  ?  "  I  said. 

"  We  came  down  on  Saturday  night,  after  we  had  lost 
Gignoux  above  the  city." 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Nick.  "  I  have  been  playing  piquet  with 
Lamarque  most  of  the  time  since  I  arrived.  He  is  one  of 
the  pleasantest  men  I  have  met  in  Louisiana,  although  a 
attle  taciturn,  as  you  perceive,  and  more  than  a  little  deaf. 
I  think  he  does  not  like  Auguste.  He  seems  to  have  known 
him  lu  his  youth." 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  looked  at  him  with  interest. 

"You  are  at  Les  lies,  Nick,"  I  said;  "you  are  on  Mon- 


516  THE  CROSSING 

sieur  de  St.  Gre's  plantation,  and  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  his  house." 

His  face  became  grave  all  at  once.  He  seized  me  by 
both  shoulders,  and  looked  into  my  face. 

*        */ 

"  You  say  that  we  are  at  Les  lies?"  he  repeated  slowly. 

I  nodded,  seeing  the  deception  which  Auguste  had  evi 
dently  practised  in  order  to  get  him  here.  Then  Nick 
dropped  his  arms,  went  to  the  door,  and  stood  for  a  long 
time  with  his  back  turned  to  us,  looking  out  over  the 
fields.  When  finally  he  spoke  it  was  in  the  tone  he  used 
in  anger. 

"If  I  had  him  now,  I  think  I  would  kill  him,"  he  said. 

Auguste  had  deluded  him  in  other  things,  had  run 
away  and  deserted  him  in  a^strange  land.  But  this  mat 
ter  of  bringing  him  to  Les  lies  was  past  pardon.  It  was 
another  face  he  turned  to  the  Vicomtesse,  a  stronger  face, 
a  face  ennobled  by  a  just  anger. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  vague 
notion  that  you  are  related  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre.  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman  that  I  had  no 
thought  of  trespassing  upon  him  in  any  way." 

"  Mr.  Temple,  we  were  so  sure  of  that  —  Mr.  Ritchie 
and  I — that  we  should  not  have  sought  for  you  here  other 
wise,"  she  replied  quickly.  Then  she  glanced  at  me  as 
though  seeking  my  approval  for  her  next  move.  It  was 
characteristic  of  her  that  she  did  not  now  shirk  a  task 
imposed  by  her  sense  of  duty.  "We  have  little  time, 
Mr.  Temple,  and  much  to  say.  Perhaps  you  will  excuse 
us,  Lamarque,"  she  added  graciously,  in  French. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  !  "  said  the  old  man.  And, 
with  the  tact  of  his  race,  he  bowed  and  retired.  The 
Vicomtesse  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  rude  chairs,  and 
looked  at  Nick  curiously.  There  was  no  such  thing  as 
embarrassment  in  her  manner,  no  trace  of  misgiving  that 
she  would  not  move  properly  in  the  affair.  Knowing  Nick 
as  I  did,  the  difficulty  of  the  task  appalled  me,  for  no  man 
was  likelier  than  he  to  fly  off  at  a  misplaced  word. 

Her  beginning  was  so  bold  that  I  held  my  breath,  know 
ing  full  well  as  I  did  that  she  had  chosen  the  very  note. 


AT  LAMAKQUE'S  617 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Temple,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  about  your  mother." 

He  stopped  like  a  man  who  had  been  struck,  straight 
ened,  and  stared  at  her  as  though  he  had  not  taken  her 
meaning.  Then  he  swung  on  me. 

"  Your  mother  is  in  New  Orleans,"  I  said.  "  I  would 
have  told  you  in  Louisville  had  you  given  me  the  chance." 

"  It  is  an  interesting  piece  of  news,  David,"  he  answered, 
"  which  you  might  have  spared  me.  Mrs.  Temple  did  not 
think  herself  necessary  to  my  welfare  when  I  was  young, 
and  now  I  have  learned  to  live  without  her." 

"  Is  there  no  such  thing  as  expiation,  Monsieur  ?  "  said 
the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  she  made  me  what  I  am,  and  when 
I  might  have  redeemed  myself  she  came  between  me  and 
happiness." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  "  have  you  ever  con 
sidered  her  sufferings  ?  " 

He  looked  at  the  Vicomtesse  with  a  new  interest.  She 
was  not  so  far  beyond  his  experience  as  mine. 

"  Her  sufferings  ?  "  he  repeated,  and  smiled. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  should  know  them,"  I  inter 
rupted  ;  and  without  heeding  her  glance  of  protest  I  con 
tinued,  "  It  is  she  who  has  cared  for  Mrs.  Temple." 

"  You,  Madame  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Do  not  deny  your  own  share  in  it,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she 
answered.  "  As  for  me,  Monsieur,"  she  went  on,  turning 
to  Nick,  "  I  have  done  nothing  that  was  not  selfish.  I 
have  been  in  the  world,  I  have  lived  my  life,  misfortunes 
have  come  upon  me  too.  My  visits  to  your  mother  have 
been  to  me  a  comfort,  a  pleasure,  —  for  she  is  a  rare  per 
son." 

"I  have  never  found  her  so,  Madame,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  your  misfortune  rather  than  your 
fault,  Mr.  Temple.  It  is  because  you  do  not  know  her 
now." 

Again  he  looked  at  me,  puzzled,  uneasy,  like  a  man  who 
•would  run  if  he  could.  But  by  a  kind  of  fascination  his 
eyes  went  back  to  this  woman  who  dared  a  subject  sore 


518  THE  CROSSING 

to  the  touch — who  pressed  it  gently,  but  with  determi 
nation,  never  doubting  her  powers,  yet  with  a  kindness  and 
sympathy  of  tone  which  few  women  of  the  world  possess. 
The  Vicomtesse  began  to  speak  again,  evenly,  gently. 

"  Mr.  Temple,"  said  she,  "  I  am  merely  going  to  tell  you 
some  things  which  I  am  sure  you  do  not  know,  and  when 
I  have  finished  I  shall  not  appeal  to  you.  It  would  be  use 
less  for  me  to  try  to  influence  you,  and  from  what  Mr. 
Ritchie  and  others  have  told  me  of  your  character  I  am  sure 
that  no  influence  will  be  necessary.  And,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile,  "  it  would  be  much  more  comfortable  for  us 
both  if  you  sat  down." 

He  obeyed  her  without  a  word.  No  wonder  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  had  had  an  influence  at  court. 

"  There  !  "  she  said.  "  If  any  reference  I  am  about  to 
make  gives  you  pain,  I  am  sorry."  She  paused  briefly. 
"  After  Mr.  Ritchie  took  your  mother  from  here  to  New 
Orleans,  some  five  years  ago,  she  rented  a  little  house  in 
the  Rue  Bourbon  with  a  screen  of  yellow  and  red  tiles  at 
the  edge  of  the  roof.  It  is  on  the  south  side,  next  to  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Philippe.  There  she  lives  absolutely 
alone,  except  for  a  servant.  Mr.  Clark,  who  has  charge 
of  her  affairs,  was  the  only  person  she  allowed  to  visit  her. 
For  her  pride,  however  misplaced,  and  for  her  spirit  we 
must  all  admire  her.  The  friend  who  discovered  where 
she  was,  who  went  to  her  and  implored  Mrs.  Temple  to  let 
her  stay,  she  refused." 

"  The  friend  ?  "  he  repeated  in  a  low  tone.  I  scarcely 
dared  to  glance  at  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Yes,  it  was  Antoinette,"  she  answered.  He  did  not 
reply,  but  his  eyes  fell.  "  Antoinette  went  to  her,  would 
have  comforted  her,  would  have  cared  for  her,  but  your 
mother  sent  her  away.  For  five  years  she  has  lived  there, 
Mr.  Temple,  alone  with  her  past,  alone  with  her  sorrow 
and  remorse.  You  must  draw  the  picture  for  yourself. 
If  the  world  has  a  more  terrible  punishment,  I  have  not 
heard  of  it.  And  when,  some  months  ago,  I  came,  and 
Antoinette  sent  me  to  her  —  " 

"  Sent  you  to  her !  "  he  said,  raising  his  head  quickly. 


AT  LAMABQUE'S  519 

"  Under  another  name  than  my  own,"  Helene  continued, 
apparently  taking  no  notice  of  his  interruption.  She 
leaned  toward  him  and  her  voice  faltered.  "  I  found  your 
mother  dying." 

He  said  nothing,  but  got  to  his  feet  and  walked  slowly 
to  the  door,  where  he  stood  looking  out  again.  I  felt  for 
him,  I  would  have  gone  to  him  then  had  it  not  been 
for  the  sense  in  me  that  Helene  did  not  wish  it.  As  for 
Heldne,  she  sat  waiting  for  him  to  turn  back  to  her,  and 
at  length  he  did. 

"Yes?  "he  said. 

"  It  is  her  heart,  Mr.  Temple,  that  we  fear  the  most. 
Last  night  I  thought  the  end  had  come.  It  cannot 
be  very  far  away  now.  Sorrow  and  remorse  have  killed 
her,  Monsieur.  The  one  thing  that  she  has  prayed  for 
through  the  long  nights  is  that  she  might  see  you  once 
again  and  obtain  your  forgiveness.  God  Himself  does  not 
withhold  forgiveness,  Mr.  Temple,"  said  the  Vicomtesse, 
gently.  "  Shall  any  of  us  presume  to  ?  " 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his  face,  and  then  his  expression 
hardened. 

"  I  might  have  been  a  useful  man,"  he  said ;  "  she 
ruined  my  life  —  " 

"  And  you  will  allow  her  to  ruin  the  rest  of  it?"  asked 
the  Vicomtesse. 

He  stared  at  her. 

"If  you  do  not  go  to  her  and  forgive  her,  you  will 
remember  it  until  you  die,"  she  said. 

He  sank  down  on  the  chair  opposite  to  her,  his  head 
bowed  into  his  hands,  his  elbows  on  the  table  among  the 
cards.  At  length  I  went  and  laid  my  hands  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  at  my  touch  he  started.  Then  he  did  a 
singular  thing,  an  impulsive  thing,  characteristic  of  the 
old  Nick  I  had  known.  He  reached  across  the  table  and 
seized  the  hand  of  Madame  la  Vicomtesse.  She  did  not 
resist,  and  her  smile  I  shall  always  remember.  It  was  the 
smile  of  a  woman  who  has  suffered,  and  understands. 

"  I  will  go  to  her,  Madame !  "  he  said,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "  I  will  go  to  her.  I  —  I  was  wrong. " 


520  THE  CBOSSING 

She  rose,  too,  he  still  clinging  to  her  hand,  she  still 
unresisting.  His  eye  fell  upon  me. 

"  Where  is  my  hat,  Davy?  "  he  asked. 

The  Vicomtesse  withdrew  her  hand  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Alas,  it  is  not  quite  so  simple  as  that,  Mr.  Temple," 
she  said ;  "  Monsieur  de  Carondelet  has  first  to  be  reckoned 
with." 

"  She  is  dying,  you  say  ?  then  I  will  go  to  her.  After 
that  Monsieur  de  Carondelet  may  throw  me  into  prison, 
may  hang  me,  may  do  anything  he  chooses.  But  I  will 
go  to  her." 

I  glanced  anxiously  at  the  Vicomtesse,  well  knowing 
how  wilful  he  was  when  aroused.  Admiration  was  in  her 
eyes,  seeing  that  he  was  heedless  of  his  own  danger. 

"You  would  not  get  through  the  gates  of  the  city. 
Monsieur  le  Baron  requires  passports  now,"  she  said. 

At  that  he  began  to  pace  the  little  room,  his  hands 
clenched. 

"  I  could  use  your  passport,  Davy,"  he  cried.  "  Let 
me  have  it." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Temple,  I  do  not  think  you  could," 
said  the  Vicomtesse.  I  flushed.  I  suppose  the  remark 
was  not  to  be  resisted. 

"  Then  I  will  go  to-night,"  he  said,  with  determination. 
"It  will  be  no  trouble  to  steal  into  the  city.  You  say 
the  house  has  yellow  and  red  tiles,  and  is  near  the  Rue 
St.  Philippe?" 

Hel£ne  laid  her  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"Listen,  Monsieur,  there  is  a  better  way,"  she  said. 
"  Monsieur  le  Baron  is  doubtless  very  angry  with  you, 
and  I  am  sure  that  this  is  chiefly  because  he  does  not 
know  you.  For  instance,  if  some  one  were  to  tell  him 
that  you  are  a  straightforward,  courageous  young  man,  a 
gentleman  with  an  unquenchable  taste  for  danger,  that 
you  are  not  a  low-born  adventurer  and  intriguer,  that  you 
have  nothing  in  particular  against  his  government,  he 
might  not  be  quite  so  angry.  Pardon  me  if  I  say  that  he 
is  not  disposed  to  take  your  expedition  any  more  seriously 
than  is  your  own  Federal  government.  The  little  Baron 


AT  LAMARQUE'S  521 

is  irascible,  choleric,  stern,  or  else  good-natured,  good- 
hearted,  and  charitable,  just  as  one  happens  to  take  him. 
As  we  say  in  France,  it  is  not  well  to  strike  flint  and  steel 
in  his  presence.  He  might  blow  up  and  destroy  one. 
Suppose  some  one  were  to  go  to  Monsieur  de  Carondelet 
and  tell  him  what  a  really  estimable  person  you  are,  and 
assure  him  that  you  will  go  quietly  out  of  his  province  at 
the  first  opportunity,  and  be  good,  so  far  as  he  is  con 
cerned,  forever  after?  Mark  me,  I  merely  say  suppose. 
I  do  not  know  how  far  things  have  gone,  or  what  he  may 
have  heard.  But  suppose  a  person  whom  I  have  reason 
to  believe  he  likes  and  trusts  and  respects,  a  person  who 
understands  his  vagaries,  should  go  to  him  on  such  an 
errand." 

"  And  where  is  such  a  person  to  be  found,"  said  Nick, 
amused  in  spite  of  himself. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  courtesied. 

"  Monsieur,  she  is  before  you,"  she  said. 

"  Egad,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  mean  to  say,  Madame,  that 
you  will  go  to  the  Baron  on  my  behalf  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  ever  get  to  town,"  she  said.  "  He  will 
have  to  be  waked  from  his  siesta,  and  he  does  not  like 
that." 

"  But  he  will  forgive  you,"  said  Nick,  quick  as  a  flash. 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  he  will,"  said  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse. 

"  Faith,"  cried  Nick,  "  he  would  not  be  flesh  and  blood 
if  he  didn't." 

At  that  the  Vicomtesse  laughed,  and  her  eye  rested 
judicially  on  me.  I  was  standing  rather  glumly,  I  fear, 
in  the  corner. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  him  with  you  ?  "  said  Nick. 

"I  was  thinking  of  it,"  said  the  Vicomtesse.  "Mr. 
Ritchie  knows  you,  and  he  is  such  a  reliable  and  reputable 
person." 

Nick  bowed. 

"You  should  have  seen  him  marching  in  a  Jacobin 
procession,  Madame,"  he  said. 

"  He  follows  his  friends  into  strange  places,"  she  retorted. 


522  THE   CROSSING 

*  And  now,  Mr.  Temple,"  she  added,  "  may  we  trust  you  to 
stay  here  with  Lamarque  until  you  have  word  from  us  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  cannot  stay  here,"  he  cried. 

"  And  why  not,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"If  I  were  captured  here,  I  should  get  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre  into  trouble  ;  and  besides,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
coldness,  "  I  cannot  be  beholden  to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre. 
I  cannot  remain  on  his  land." 

"  As  for  getting  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  into  trouble,  his 
own  son  could  not  involve  him  with  the  Baron,"  answered 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse.  "  And  it  seems  to  me,  Monsieur, 
that  you  are  already  so  far  beholden  to  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre  that  you  cannot  quibble  about  going  a  little  more  into 
his  debt.  Come,  Mr.  Temple,  how  has  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre  ever  offended  you  ?  " 

"Madame  —  "  he  began. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  with  an  air  not  to  be  denied, 
"I  believe  I  can  discern  a  point  of  honor  as  well  as  you. 
I  fail  to  see  that  you  have  a  case." 

He  was  indeed  no  match  for  her.  He  turned  to  me 
appealingly,  his  brows  bent,  but  I  had  no  mind  to  meddle. 
He  swung  back  to  her. 

"  But  Madame  —  !  "  he  cried. 

She  was  arranging  the  cards  neatly  on  the  table. 

"  Monsieur,  you  are  tiresome,"  she  said.  "  What  is  it 
now?" 

He  took  a  step  toward  her,  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  his 
voice  shaking.  But,  true  to  himself,  he  spoke  plainly. 
As  for  me,  I  looked  on  frightened,  —  as  though  watching 
a  contest,  —  almost  agape  to  see  what  a  clever  woman 
could  do. 

"  There  is  —  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre  —  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre,"  repeated  the 
Vicomtesse,  toying  with  the  cards. 

His  face  lighted,  though  his  lips  twitched  with  pain. 

"She  is  still  —  " 

"  She  is  still  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre,  Monsieur,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean." 

"  And  what  will  she  think  if  I  stay  here  ?  " 


AT  LAMAEQUE'S  523 

"  Ah,  do  you  care  what  she  thinks,  Mr.  Temple  ?  "  said 
the  Vicomtesse,  raising  her  head  quickly.  "  From  what  I 
have  heard,  I  should  not  have  thought  you  could." 

"  God  help  me,"  he  answered  simply,  "  I  do  care." 

Helene's  eyes  softened  as  she  looked  at  him,  and  my 
pride  in  him  was  never  greater  than  at  that  moment. 

"  Mr.  Temple,"  she  said  gently,  "  remain  where  you  are 
and  have  faith  in  us.  I  begin  to  see  now  why  you.  are  so 
fortunate  in  your  friends."  Her  glance  rested  for  a  brief 
instant  on  me.  "  Mr.  Ritchie  and  1  will  go  to  New  Orleans, 
talk  to  the  Baron,  and  send  Andre  at  once  with  a  message. 
If  it  is  in  our  power,  you  shall  see  your  mother  very  soon.'" 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  he  bent  and  kissed  it 
reverently,  with  an  ease  I  envied.  He  followed  us  to  the 
door.  And  when  the  Vicomtesse  had  gone  a  little  way 
down  the  path  she  looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Do  not  despair,  Mr.  Temple,"  she  said. 

It  was  an  answer  to  a  yearning  in  his  face.  He  gripped 
me  by  the  shoulders. 

"  God  bless  you,  Davy,"  he  whispered,  and  added, 
"  God  bless  you  both." 

I  overtook  her  where  the  path  ran  into  the  forest's 
shade,  and  for  a  long  while  I  walked  after  her,  not  break 
ing  her  silence,  my  eyes  upon  her,  a  strange  throbbing  in 
my  forehead  which  I  did  not  heed.  At  last,  when  the 
perfumes  of  the  flowers  told  us  we  were  neariug  the 
garden,  she  turned  to  me. 

"  I  like  Mr.  Temple,''  she  said,  again. 

"  He  is  an  honest  gentleman,"  I  answered. 

"  One  meets  very  few  of  them,"  she  said,  speaking  in 
a  low  voice.  "  You  and  I  will  go  to  the  Governor.  And 
after  that,  have  you  any  idea  where  you  will  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  troubled  by  her  regard. 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you.  I  intend  to  send  you  to  Madame 
Gravois's,  and  she  will  compel  you  to  go  to  bed  and  rest. 
I  do  not  mean  to  allow  you  to  kill  yourself." 


CHAPTER    IX 

MONSIEUR   LE  BARON 

THE  sun  beat  down  mercilessly  on  thatch  and  terrace, 
the  yellow  walls  flung  back  the  quivering  heat,  as  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  and  I  walked  through  the  empty  streets 
towards  the  Governor's  house.  We  were  followed  by 
Andre  and  Madame's  maid.  The  sleepy  orderly  started 
up  from  under  the  archway  at  our  approach,  bowed  pro 
foundly  to  Madame,  looked  askance  at  me,  and  declared, 
with  a  thousand  regrets,  that  Monsieur  le  Baron  was 
having  his  siesta. 

"  Then  you  will  wake  him,"  said  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 

Wake  Monsieur  le  Baron  !  Bueno  Dios,  did  Madame 
understand  what  it  meant  to  wake  his  Excellency  ?  His 
Excellency  would  at  lirst  be  angry,  no  doubt.  Angry  ? 
As  an  Andalusian  bull,  Madame.  Once,  when  his  Excel 
lency  had  first  come  to  the  province,  he,  the  orderly,  had 
presumed  to  awake  him. 

"  Assez ! "  said  Madame,  so  suddenly  that  the  man 
straightened  and  looked  at  her  again.  "  You  will  wake 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  and  tej'  him  that  Madame  la  Vicom 
tesse  d'lvry-le-Tour  has  something  of  importance  to  say 
to  him." 

Madame  had  the  air,  and  a  title  carried  with  a  Spanish 
soldier  in  New  Orleans  in  those  days.  The  orderly  fairly 
swept  the  ground  and  led  us  through  a  court  where  the 
sun  drew  bewildering  hot  odors  from  the  fruits  and  flowers, 
into  a  darkened  room  which  was  the  Baron's  cabinet.  I 
remember  it  vaguely,  for  my  head  was  hot  and  throbbing 
from  my  exertions  in  such  a  climate.  It  was  a  new  room, 
—  the  hotel  being  newly  built,  —  with  white  walls,  a 

524 


MONSIEUR  LE   BARON  625 

picture  of  his  Catholic  Majesty  and  the  royal  arms  of 
Spain,  a  map  of  Louisiana,  another  of  New  Orleans 
fortified,  some  walnut  chairs,  a  desk  with  ink  and  sand 
and  a  seal,  and  a  window,  the  closed  lattice  shutters  of 
which  showed  streaks  of  light  green  light.  These  doubt 
less  opened  on  the  Royal  Road  and  looked  across  the 
levee  esplanade  on  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi.  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse  seated  herself,  and  with  a  gesture  which 
was  an  order  bade  me  do  likewise. 

"  He  will  be  angry,  the  dear  Baron,"  she  said.  "  He  is 
harassed  to  death  with  republics.  No  offence,  Mr.  Ritchie. 
He  is  up  at  dawn  looking  to  the  forts  and  palisades  to 
guard  against  such  foolish  enterprises  as  this  of  Mr. 
Temple's.  And  to  be  waked  out  of  a  well-earned  siesta 
—  to  save  a  gentleman  who  has  come  here  to  make  things 
unpleasant  for  him  —  is  carrying  a  joke  a  little  far. 
Mais  —  que  voulez-vous  ?  " 

She  gave  a  little  shrug  to  her  slim  shoulders  as  she 
smiled  at  me,  and  she  seemed  not  a  whit  disturbed  con 
cerning  the  conversation  with  his  Excellency.  I  wondered 
whether  this  were  birth,  or  training,  or  both,  or  a  natural 
ability  to  cope  with  affairs.  The  women  of  her  order  had 
long  been  used  to  intercede  with  sovereigns,  to  play  a 
part  in  matters  of  state.  Suddenly  I  became  aware  that 
she  was  looking  at  me. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  she  demanded,  and  con 
tinued  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  "you  strange  man." 

"I  was  thinking  how  odd  it  was,"  I  replied,  "that  I 
should  have  known  you  all  these  years  by  a  portrait,  that 
we  should  finally  be  thrown  together,  and  that  you  should 
be  so  exactly  like  the  person  I  had  supposed  you  to  be." 

She  lowered  her  eyes,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  take 
offence.  I  meant  none. 

"  And  you,"  she  answered,  "  are  continually  reminding 
me  of  an  Englishman  I  knew  when  I  was  a  girl.  He  was 
a  very  queer  person  to  be  attached  to  the  Embassy,  —  not 
a  courtier,  but  a  serious,  literal  person  like  you,  Mr.  Ritchie, 
and  he  resembled  you  very  much.  I  was  very  fond  of 
him." 


626  THE  CROSSING 

"  And  —  what  became  of  him  ?  "  I  asked.  Other  ques 
tions  rose  to  my  lips,  but  I  put  them  down. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered,  bending  forward  a 
little.  "  He  did  something  which  I  believe  you  might 
have  done.  A  certain  Marquis  spoke  lightly  of  a  lady, 
an  Englishwoman  at  our  court,  and  my  Englishman  ran 
him  through  one  morning  at  Versailles." 

She  paused,  and  I  saw  that  her  breath  was  coming  more 
quickly  at  the  remembrance. 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  He  fled  to  England.  He  was  a  younger  son,  and  poor. 
But  his  King  heard  of  the  affair,  had  it  investigated,  and 
restored  him  to  the  service.  I  have  never  seen  him  since," 
she  said,  "  but  I  have  often  thought  of  him.  There,"  she 
added,  after  a  silence,  with  a  lightness  which  seemed 
assumed,  "  I  have  given  you  a  romance.  How  long  the 
Baron  takes  to  dress  !  " 

At  that  moment  there  were  footsteps  in  the  court-yard, 
and  the  orderly  appeared  at  the  door,  saluting,  and  speak 
ing  in  Spanish. 

"  His  Excellency  the  Governor  !  " 

We  rose,  and  Madame  was  courtesying  and  I  was  bow 
ing  to  the  little  man.  He  was  in  uniform,  his  face  per 
spiring  in  the  creases,  his  plump  calves  stretching  his 
white  stockings  to  the  full.  Madame  extended  her  hand 
and  he  kissed  it,  albeit  he  did  not  bend  easily.  He  spoke 
in  French,  and  his  voice  betrayed  the  fact  that  his  temper 
was  near  slipping  its  leash.  The  Baron  was  a  native  of 
Flanders. 

"  To  what  happy  circumstance  do  I  owe  the  honor  of 
this  visit,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  a  woman's  whim,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  she  answered, 
"  for  a  man  would  not  have  dared  to  disturb  you.  May  I  pre 
sent  to  your  Excellency,  Mr.  David  Ritchie  of  Kentucky?" 

His  Excellency  bowed  stiffly,  looked  at  me  with  no 
pretence  of  pleasure,  and  I  had  had  sufficient  dealings 
with  men  to  divine  that,  in  the  coming  conversation,  the 
overflow  of  his  temper  would  be  poured  upon  me.  His 
first  sensation  was  surprise. 


MONSIEUR  LE   BARON  527 

"  An  American  !  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  implied  re 
proach  to  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  for  having  fallen  into 
such  company.  "  Ah,"  he  cried,  breathing  hard  in  the 
manner  of  stout  people,  "  I  remember  you  came  down 
with  Monsieur  Vigo,  Monsieur,  did  you  not  ?  " 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  surprised.  If  the  Baron  took  a 
like  cognizance  of  all  my  countrymen  who  came  to  New 
Orleans,  he  was  a  busy  man  indeed. 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,"  I  answered. 

"  And  you  are  a  Federalist  ?  "  he  said,  though  petulantly. 

"I  am,  your  Excellency." 

"  Is  your  nation  to  overrun  the  earth  ?  "  said  the  Baron. 
"  Every  morning  when  I  ride  through  the  streets  it  seems 
to  me  that  more  Americans  have  come.  Pardieu,  I  declare 
every  day  that,  if  it  were  not  for  the  Americans,  I  should 
have  ten  years  more  of  life  ahead  of  me."  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  glance  at  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 
Her  eyes,  half  closed,  betrayed  an  amusement  that  was 
scarce  repressed. 

''Come,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  she  said,  "you  and  I  have 
like  beliefs  upon  most  matters.  We  have  both  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  people  who  have  mistaken  a  fiend  for  a 
Lady." 

"  You  would  have  me  believe,  Madame,"  the  Baron  put 
in,  with  a  wit  I  had  not  thought  in  him,  "  that  Mr.  Ritchie 
knows  a  lady  when  he  sees  one.  I  can  readily  believe  it." 

Madame  laughed. 

"  He  at  least  has  a  negative  knowledge,"  she  replied. 
"  And  he  has  brought  into  New  Orleans  no  coins,  boxes, 
or  clocks  against  your  Excellency's  orders  with  the  image 
and  superscription  of  the  Goddess  in  whose  name  all 
things  are  done.  He  has  not  sung  '  Ca  Ira  '  at  the  theatres, 
and  he  detests  the  tricolored  cockades  as  much  as  you  do." 

The  Baron  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  and  began  to 
thaw.  There  was  a  little  more  friendliness  in  his  next 
glance  at  me. 

"  What  images  have  you  brought  in,  Mr.  Ritchie  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  We  all  worship  the  sex  in  some  form,  however 
misplaced  our  notions  of  it," 


528  THE  CKOSSING 

There  is  not  the  least  doubt  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  Vi- 
comtesse,  he  was  trying  to  be  genial,  and  that  his  remark 
was  a  purely  random  one.  But  the  roots  of  my  hair  seemed 
to  have  taken  fire.  I  saw  the  Baron  as  in  a  glass,  darkly. 
But  I  kept  my  head,  principally  because  the  situation  had 
elements  of  danger. 

"  The  image  of  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  Monsieur,"  I  said. 

"Dame!"  exclaimed  his  Excellency,  eying  me  with  a 
new  interest,  "I  did  not  suspect  you  of  being  a  courtier." 

"  No  more  he  is,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  the  Vicomtesse, 
"for  he  speaks  the  truth." 

His  Excellency  looked  blank.  As  for  me,  I  held  my 
breath,  wondering  what  coup  Madame  was  meditating. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  brought  down  from  Kentucky  a  miniature 
of  me  by  Boze,  that  was  painted  in  a  costume  I  once  wore 
at  Chantilly." 

"  Comment !  diable"  exclaimed  the  Baron.  "  And  how 
did  such  a  thing  get  into  Kentucky,  Madame  ?  " 

"  You  have  brought  me  to  the  point,"  she  replied, 
"which  is  no  small  triumph  for  your  Excellency.  Mr. 
Ritchie  bought  the  miniature  from  that  most  estimable  of 
my  relations,  Monsieur  Auguste  de  St.  Gre." 

The  Baron  sat  down  and  began  to  fan  himself.  He  even 
grew  a  little  purple.  He  looked  at  Madame,  sputtered, 
and  I  began  to  think  that,  if  he  didn't  relieve  himself,  his 
head  might  blow  off.  As  for  the  Vicomtesse,  she  wore  an 
ingenuous  air  of  detachment,  and  seemed  supremely  un 
conscious  of  the  volcano  by  her  side. 

"  So,  Madame,"  cried  the  Governor  at  length,  after  I 
know  not  what  repressions,  "  you  have  come  here  in  behalf 
of  that  — of  Auguste  de  St.  Gre  !  " 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Monsieur,"  answered  the 
Vicomtesse,  calmly,  "  you  may  hang  Auguste,  put  him  in 
prison,  drown  him,  or  do  anything  you  like  with  him." 

"  God  help  me,"  said  the  poor  man,  searching  for  his 
handkerchief,  and  utterly  confounded,  "why  is  it  you 
have  come  to  me,  then  ?  Why  did  you  wake  me  up  ?  "  he 
added,  so  far  forgetting  himself. 

"  I  came  in  behalf  of  the  gentleman  who  had  the  indis- 


MONSIEUR  LE  BARON  529 

cretion  to  accompany  Auguste  to  Louisiana,"  she  continued, 
"in  behalf  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Temple,  who  is  a  cousin  of 
Mr.  Ritchie." 

The  Baron  started  abruptly  from  his  chair. 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  he  cried ;  "  Madame  knows  where 
he  is?" 

"  I  know  where  he  is.  It  is  that  which  I  came  to  tell 
your  Excellency." 

"  Hein  I "  said  his  Excellency,  again  nonplussed.  "  You 
came  to  tell  me  where  he  is  ?  And  where  the  —  the  other 
one  is  ?  " 

" Parfaitement"  said  Madame.  "But  before  I  tell  you 
where  they  are,  I  wish  to  tell  you  something  about  Mr. 
Temple." 

"  Madame,  I  know  something  of  him  already,"  said  the 
Baron,  impatiently. 

"Ah,"  said  she,  "from  Gignoux.  And  what  do  you 
hear  from  Gignoux  ?  " 

This  was  another  shock,  under  which  the  Baron  fairly 
staggered. 

"JDiable!  is  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  in  the  plot?"  he 
cried.  "  What  does  Madame  know  of  Gignoux  ?  " 

Madame's  manner  suddenly  froze. 

"  I  am  likely  to  be  in  the  plot,  Monsieur,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  likely  to  be  in  a  plot  which  has  for  its  furtherance  that 
abominable  anarchy  which  deprived  me  of  my  home  and 
estates,  of  my  relatives  and  friends  and  my  sovereign." 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  said  the 
Baron,  more  at  sea  than  ever.  "  I  have  had  much  to  do 
these  last  years,  and  the  heat  and  the  Republicans  have 
got  on  my  temper.  Will  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  pray 
explain  ?  " 

"  I  was  about  to  do  so  when  your  Excellency  inter 
rupted,"  said  Madame.  "  You  see  before  you  Mr.  Ritchie, 
barrister,  of  Louisville,  Kentucky,  whose  character  of 
sobriety,  dependence,  and  ability "  (there  was  a  little 
gleam  in  her  eye  as  she  gave  me  this  array  of  virtues) 
"  can  be  perfectly  established.  When  he  came  to  New 
Orleans  some  years  ago  he  brought  letters  to  Monsieur  de 
2u 


530  THE  CROSSING 

St.  Gre  from  Monsieur  Gratiot  and  Colonel  Chouteau  of 
St.  Louis,  and  he  is  known  to  Mr.  Clark  and  to  Monsieur 
Vigo.  He  is  a  Federalist,  as  you  know,  and  has  no  sym 
pathy  with  the  Jacobins." 

"Eh  bien,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  the  Baron,  getting  his 
breath,  "  you  are  fortunate  in  your  advocate.  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse  neglected  to  say  that  she  was  your  friend,  the 
greatest  of  all  recommendations  in  my  eyes." 

"  You  are  delightful,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  the 
Vicomtesse. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Ritchie  can  tell  me  something  of  this 
expedition,"  said  the  Baron,  his  eyes  growing  smaller  as 
he  looked  at  me. 

"  Willingly,"  I  answered.  "  Although  I  know  that  your 
Excellency  is  well  informed,  and  that  Monsieur  Vigo  has 
doubtless  given  you  many  of  the  details  that  I  know." 

He  interrupted  me  with  a  grunt. 

"  You  Americans  are  clever  people,  Monsieur,"  he  said ; 
"you  contrive  to  combine  shrewdness  with  frankness." 

"  If  I  had  anything  to  hide  from  your  Excellency,  I 
should  not  be  here,"  I  answered.  "  The  expedition,  as 
you  know,  has  been  as  much  of  a  farce  as  Citizen  Genet's 
commissions.  But  it  has  been  a  sad  farce  to  me,  inasmuch 
as  it  involves  the  honor  of  my  old  friend  and  Colonel, 
General  Clark,  and  the  safety  of  my  cousin,  Mr.  Temple." 

"  So  you  were  with  Clark  in  Illinois  ?  "  said  the  Baron, 
craftily.  "  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Ritchie,  but  I  should  have 
said  that  you  are  too  young." 

"  Monsieur  Vigo  will  tell  you  that  I  was  the  drummer 
boy  of  the  regiment,  and  a  sort  of  ward  of  the  Colonel's. 
I  used  to  clean  his  guns  and  cook  his  food." 

"And  you  did  not  see  fit  to  follow  your  Colonel  to 
Louisiana  ?  "  said  his  Excellency,  for  he  had  been  trained 
in  a  service  of  suspicion. 

"  General  Clark  is  not  what  he  was,"  I  replied,  chafing  a 
little  at  his  manner  ;  "  your  Excellency  knows  that,  and 
I  put  loyalty  to  my  government  before  friendship.     And 
I  might  remind  your  Excellency  that  I  am  neither  an  ; 
adventurer  nor  a  fool." 


MONSIEUR  LE  BAKON  631 

The  little  Baron  surprised  me  by  laughing.  His  irrita 
bility  and  his  good  nature  ran  in  streaks. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  he  answered. 
"I  have  seen  something  of  men  in  my  time.  In  which 
category  do  you  place  your  cousin,  Mr.  Temple  ?  " 

"  If  a  love  of  travel  and  excitement  and  danger  consti 
tutes  an  adventurer,  Mr.  Temple  is  such,v  I  said.  "  Fortu 
nately  the  main  spur  of  the  adventurer's  character  is 
lacking  in  his  case.  I  refer  to  the  desire  for  money.  Mr. 
Temple  has  an  annuity  from  his  father's  estate  in  Charles 
ton  which  puts  him  beyond  the  pale  of  the  fortune-seeker, 
and  I  firmly  believe  that  if  your  Excellency  sees  fit  to 
allow  him  to  leave  the  province,  and  if  certain  disquieting 
elements  can  be  removed  from  his  life  "  (I  glanced  at  the 
Vicomtesse),  "he  will  settle  down  and  become  a  useful 
citizen  of  the  United  States.  As  much  as  I  dislike  to 
submit  to  a  stranger  private  details  in  the  life  of  a  mem 
ber  of  my  family,  I  feel  that  I  must  tell  your  Excellency 
something  of  Mr.  Temple's  career,  in  order  that  you  may 
know  that  restlessness  and  the  thirst  for  adventure  were 
the  only  motives  that  led  him  into  this  foolish  undertaking." 

"  Pray  proceed,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  the  Baron. 

I  was  surprised  not  to  find  him  more  restless,  and  in 
addition  the  glance  of  approbation  which  the  Vicomtesse 
gave  me  spurred  me  on.  However  distasteful,  I  had  the 
sense  to  see  that  I  must  hold  nothing  back  of  which  his 
Excellency  might  at  any  time  become  cognizant,  and 
therefore  I  told  him  as  briefly  as  possible  Nick's  story, 
leaving  out  only  the  episode  with  Antoinette.  When  I 
came  to  the  relation  of  the  affairs  which  occurred  at  Les 
lies  five  years  before  and  told  his  Excellency  that  Mrs. 
Temple  had  since  been  living  in  the  Rue  Bourbon  as  Mrs. 
Clive,  unknown  to  her  son,  the  Baron  broke  in  upon  me. 

"  So  the  mystery  of  that  woman  is  cleared  at  last,"  he 
said,  and  turned  to  the  Vicomtesse.  "I  have  learned 
that  you  have  been  a  frequent  visitor,  Madame." 

''  Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  in  Louisiana  that 
your  Excellency  does  not  hear  of  it,"  she  answered. 

"  And  Gignoux  ?  "  he  said,  speaking  to  me  again.. 


532  THE  CROSSING 

"As  I  told  you,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  I  answered,  "I 
have  come  to  New  Orleans  at  a  personal  sacrifice  to  induce 
my  cousin  to  abandon  this  matter,  and  I  went  out  last 
evening  to  try  to  get  word  of  him."  This  was  not 
strictly  true.  "I  saw  Monsieur  Gignoux  in  conference 
with  some  of  your  officers  who  came  out  of  this  hotel." 

"  You  have  sharp  eyes,  Monsieur,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  suspected  the  man  when  I  met  him  in  Kentucky," 
I  continued,  not  heeding  this.  "  Monsieur  Vigo  himself 
distrusted  him.  To  say  that  Gignoux  were  deep  in  the 
councils  of  the  expedition,  that  he  held  a  commission  from 
Citizen  Genet,  I  realize  will  have  no  weight  with  your 
Excellency,  —  provided  the  man  is  in  the  secret  service  of 
his  Majesty  the  King  of  Spain." 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,"  said  the  Baron,  "  you  are  a  young  man 
and  I  an  old  one.  If  I  tell  you  that  I  have  a  great  respect 
for  your  astuteness  and  ability,  do  not  put  it  down  to  flat 
tery.  I  wish  that  your  countrymen,  who  are  coming  down 
the  river  like  driftwood,  more  resembled  you.  As  for  Citi 
zen  Gignoux,"  he  went  on,  smiling,  and  wiping  his  face, 
"  let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  His  Majesty's  minister 
at  Philadelphia  has  written  me  letters  on  the  subject.  I 
am  contemplating  for  Monsieur  Gignoux  a  sea  voyage  to 
Havana,  and  he  is  at  present  partaking  of  my  hospitality 
in  the  calabozo." 

"  In  the  calabozo  !  "  I  cried,  overwhelmed  at  this  exam 
ple  of  Spanish  justice  and  omniscience. 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  Baron,  drumming  with  his  fingers 
on  his  fat  knee.  "  And  now,"  he  added,  "  perhaps  Ma 
dame  la  Vicomtesse  is  ready  to  tell  me  of  the  whereabouts 
of  Mr.  Temple  and  her  estimable  cousin,  Auguste.  It 
may  interest  her  to  know  why  I  have  allowed  them  their 
liberty  so  long." 

"  A  point  on  which  I  have  been  consumed  with  curios 
ity —  since  I  have  begun  to  tremble  at  the  amazing  thor 
oughness  of  your  Excellency's  system,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

His  Excellency  scarcely  looked  the  tyrant  as  he  sat 
before  us,  with  his  calves  crossed  and  his  hands  folded  on 
his  waistcoat  and  his  little  black  eyes  twinkling. 


MONSIEUR  LE  BAEOK  633 

"It  is  because,"  he  said,  "there  are  many  French 
planters  in  the  province  bitten  with  the  three  horrors" 
(he  meant  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity),  "I  sent  six 
to  Havana  ;  and  if  Monsieur  Etienne  de  Bore  had  not,  in 
the  nick  of  time  for  him,  discovered  how  to  make  sugar 
he  would  have  gone,  too.  I  had  an  idea  that  the  Sieur  de 
St.  Gre  and  Mr.  Temple  might  act  as  a  bait  to  reveal  the 
disease  in  some  others.  Ha,  I  am  cleverer  than  you 
thought,  Mr.  Ritchie.  You  are  surprised  ?  " 

I  was  surprised,  and  showed  it. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  are  astute.  Why  did  you 
think  I  left  them  at  liberty  ?  " 

"  I  thought  your  Excellency  believed  them  to  be  harm 
less,  as  they  are,"  I  replied. 

He  turned  again  to  the  Vicomtesse.  "  You  have  picked 
up  a  diplomat,  Madame.  I  must  confess  that  I  misjudged 
him  when  you  introduced  him  to  me.  And  again,  where 
are  Mr.  Temple  and  your  estimable  cousin  ?  Shall  I  tell 
you  ?  They  are  at  old  Lamarque's,  on  the  plantation  of 
Philippe  de  St.  Gre." 

"  They  were,  your  Excellency,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Eh  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Baron,  jumping. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Gre  has  given  her  brother  eight 
hundred  livres,  and  he  is  probably  by  this  time  on  board 
a  French  ship  at  the  English  Turn.  He  is  very  badly 
frightened.  I  will  give  your  Excellency  one  more 
surprise." 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  said  the  Baron,  "  I  have 
heard  that,  but  for  your  coolness  and  adroitness,  Monsieur 
le  Vicomte,  your  husband,  and  several  other  noblemen 
and  their  ladies  and  some  of  her  Majesty's  letters  and 
jewels  would  never  have  gotten  out  of  France.  I  take 
this  opportunity  of  saying  that  I  have  the  greatest  respect 
for  your  intelligence.  Now  what  is  the  surprise  ?  " 

"  That  your  Excellency  intended  that  both  Mr.  Temple 
and  Auguste  de  St.  Gre  were  to  escape  on  that  ship." 

"  Mille  tonneres,"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  staring  at  her, 
and  straightway  he  fell  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  left  him 
coughing  and  choking  and  perspiring  as  only  a  man  in  his 


534  THE  CEOSSING 

condition  of  flesh  can  perspire.  To  say  that  I  was 
bewildered  by  this  last  evidence  of  the  insight  of  the 
woman  beside  me  would  be  to  put  it  mildly.  The 
Vicomtesse  sat  quietly  watching  him,  the  wonted  look  of 
repressed  laughter  on  her  face,  and  by  degrees  his 
Excellency  grew  calm  again. 

" Mon  Dieu"  said  he,  "I  always  like  to  cross  swords 
with  you,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  yet  this  encounter  has 
been  more  pleasurable  than  any  I  have  had  since  I  came 
to  Louisiana.  But,  diable"  he  cried,  "  just  as  I  was  con 
gratulating  myself  that  I  was  to  have  one  American  the 
less,  you  come  and  tell  me  that  he  has  refused  to  flee. 
Out  of  consideration  for  the  character  and  services  of 
Monsieur  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  I  was  willing  to  let  them 
both  escape.  But  now  ?  " 

"Mr.  Temple  is  not  known  in  New  Orleans  except  to 
the  St.  Gre  family,"  said  the  Vicomtesse.  "  He  is  a  man 
of  honor.  Suppose  Mr.  Ritchie  were  to  bring  him  to 
your  Excellency,  and  he  were  to  give  you  his  word  that 
he  would  leave  the  province  at  the  first  opportunity  ?  He 
now  wishes  to  see  his  mother  before  she  dies,  and  it  was 
as  much  as  we  could  do  this  morning  to  persuade  him 
from  going  to  her  openly  in  the  face  of  arrest." 

But  the  Baron  was  old  in  a  service  which  did  not  do 
things  hastily. 

"  He  is  well  enough  where  he  is  for  to-day,"  said  his 
Excellency,  resuming  his  official  manner.  "  To-night 
after  dark  I  will  send  down  an  officer  and  have  him 
brought  before  me.  He  will  not  then  be  seen  in  custody 
by  any  one,  and  provided  I  am  satisfied  with  him  he  may 
go  to  the  Rue  Bourbon." 

The  little  Baron  rose  and  bowed  to  the  Vicomtesse  to 
signify  that  the  audience  was  ended,  and  he  added,  as  he 
kissed  her  hand,  "  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  be  able  to  serve  such  a  woman  as  you." 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  SCOURGE 

As  we  went  through  the  court  I  felt  as  though  I  had 
been  tied  to  a  string,  suspended  in  the  air,  and  spun.  This 
was  undoubtedly  due  to  the  heat.  And  after  the  astonish 
ing  conversation  from  which  we  had  come, my  admiration- 
for  the  lady  beside  me  was  magnified  to  a  veritable  awe. 
We  reached  the  archway.  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  held  me 
lightly  by  the  edge  of  my  coat,  and  I  stood  looking  down 
at  her. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  said,  glancing  at  the 
few  figures  hurrying  across  the  Place  d'Armes;  "those 
are  only  Americans,  and  they  are  too  busy  to  see  us  stand 
ing  here.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  We  must  get  word  to  Nick  as  we  promised,  that  he 
may  know  what  to  expect,"  I  replied.  "  Suppose  we  go 
to  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre's  house  and  write  him  a  letter  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  with  decision,  "  I  am  going 
to  Mrs.  Temple's.  I  shall  write  the  letter  from  there 
and  send  it  by  Andre,  and  you  will  go  direct  to  Madame 
Gravois's." 

Her  glance  rested  anxiously  upon  my  face,  and  there 
came  an  expression  in  her  eyes  which  disturbed  me 
strangely.  I  had  not  known  it  since  the  days  when  Polly 
Ann  used  to  mother  me.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  give  up. 

"  I  am  not  tired,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  I  answered, 
"  and  I  will  go  with  you  to  Mrs.  Temple's." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  she  said,  and  smiled.  "  Andre  and 
my  maid  are  used  to  my  vagaries,  and  your  own  country 
men  will  not  mind.  Give  me  your  hand,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

I  gave  it  willingly  enough,  with  a  thrill  as  she  took  it 

535 


536  THE  CROSSING 

between  her  own.  The  same  anxious  look  was  in  her  eyes* 
and  not  the  least  embarrassment. 

"  There,  it  is  hot  and  dry,  as  I  feared,"  she  said,  "  and 
you  seem  flushed."  She  dropped  my  hand,  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  irritation  in  her  voice  as  she  continued  :  "  You 
seemed  fairly  sensible  when  I  first  met  you  last  night,  Mr. 
Ritchie.  Are  you  losing  your  sanity  ?  Do  you  not  realize 
that  you  cannot  take  liberties  with  this  climate  ?  Do  as  I 
say,  and  go  to  Madame  Gravois's  at  once." 

"  It  is  my  pleasure  to  obey  you,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse," 
I  answered,  "  but  I  mean  to  go  with  you  as  far  as  Mrs. 
Temple's,  to  see  how  she  fares.  She  may  be  —  worse." 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  you  should  kill  yourself,"  said 
Madame,  coldly.  "  Will  you  not  do  as  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  I  should  go  to  Mrs.  Temple's,"  I  answered. 

She  did  not  reply  to  that,  letting  down  her  veil  impa 
tiently,  with  a  deftness  that  characterized  all  her  move 
ments.  Without  so  much  as  asking  me  to  come  after  her, 
she  reached  the  banquette,  and  I  walked  by  her  side  through 
the  streets,  silent  and  troubled  by  her  displeasure.  My 
pride  forbade  me  to  do  as  she  wished.  It  was  the  hottest 
part  of  a  burning  day,  and  the  dome  of  the  sky  was  like  a 
brazen  bell  above  us.  We  passed  the  calabozo  with  its  iron 
gates  and  tiny  grilled  windows  pierced  in  the  massive  walls, 
behind  which  Gignoux  languished,  and  I  could  not  repress 
a  smile  as  I  thought  of  him.  Even  the  Spaniards  some 
times  happened  upon  justice.  In  the  Rue  Bourbon  the 
little  shops  were  empty,  the  doorstep  where  my  merry 
fiddler  had  played  vacant,  and  the  very  air  seemed  to  sim 
mer  above  the  honeycombed  tiles.  I  knocked  at  the  door, 
once,  twice.  There  was  no  answer.  I  looked  at  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse,  and  knocked  again  so  loudly  that  the  little 
tailor  across  the  street,  his  shirt  opened  at  the  neck,  flung 
out  his  shutter.  Suddenly  there  was  a  noise  within,  the 
door  was  opened,  and  Lindy  stood  before  us,  in  the  dark 
ened  room,  with  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Marse  Dave,"  she  cried,  as  we  entered,  "  oh, 
Madame,  I'se  so  glad  you'se  come,  I'se  so  glad  you'se 
come." 


THE  SCOURGE  537 

She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  And  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse,  raising  her  veil,  seized  the  girl  by  the 
arm. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said.    "  What  is  the  matter,  Lindy  ?  " 

Madame's  touch  seemed  to  steady  her. 

"  Miss  Sally,"  she  moaned,  "  Miss  Sally  done  got  de 
yaller  fever." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  for  we  were  both  too 
appalled  by  the  news  to  speak. 

"  Lindy,  are  you  sure  ?  "  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

"  Yass'm,  yass'm,"  Lindy  sobbed,  "  I  reckon  I'se  done 
seed  'nuf  of  it,  Mistis."  And  she  went  into  a  hysterical 
fit  of  weeping. 

The  Vicomtesse  turned  to  her  own  frightened  servants 
in  the  doorway,  bade  Andre  in  French  to  run  for  Dr.  Per- 
rin,  and  herself  closed  the  battened  doors.  There  was 
a  moment  when  her  face  as  I  saw  it  was  graven  on  my 
memory,  reflecting  a  knowledge  of  the  evils  of  this  world, 
a  spirit  above  and  untouched  by  them,  a  power  to  accept 
what  life  may  bring  with  no  outward  sign  of  pleasure  or 
dismay.  Doubtless  thus  she  had  made  King  and  Cardinal 
laugh,  doubtless  thus,  ministering  to  those  who  crossed 
her  path,  she  had  met  her  own  calamities.  Strangest  of 
all  was  the  effect  she  had  upon  Lindy,  for  the  girl  ceased 
crying  as  she  watched  her. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  turned  to  me. 

"  You  must  go  at  once,"  she  said.  "  When  you  get  to 
Madame  Gravois's,  write  to  Mr.  Temple.  I  will  send  Andre 
to  you  there." 

She  started  for  the  bedroom  door,  Lindy  making  way 
for  her.  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  did  as  I  sprang  forward 
and  took  the  Vicomtesse  by  the  arm. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  I  cried.  "  You  cannot  go  in 
there  !  You  cannot  go  in  there  !  " 

It  did  not  seem  strange  that  she  turned  to  me  without 
anger,  that  she  did  not  seek  to  release  her  arm.  It  did 
not  seem  strange  that  her  look  had  in  it  a  gentleness  as 
she  spoke. 

"  I  must,"  she  said. 


538  THE   CEOSSING 

"  I  cannot  let  you  risk  your  life,"  I  cried,  wholly  for 
getting  myself  ;  "  there  are  others  who  will  do  this." 

"  Others  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  will  go.  I  —  I  have  nursed  people  before  this.  And 
there  is  Lindy." 

A  smile  quivered  on  her  lips,  —  or  was  it  a  smile  ? 

"  You  will  do  as  I  say  and  go  to  Madame  Gravois's  —  at 
once,"  she  murmured,  striving  for  the  first  time  to  free 
herself. 

"  If  you  stay,  I  stay,"  I  answered;  "  and  if  you  die,  I  die." 

She  looked  up  into  my  eyes  for  a  fleeting  instant. 

"Write  to  Mr.Temple,"  she  said. 

Dazed,  I  watched  her  open  the  bedroom  doors,  motion 
to  Lindy  to  pass  through,  and  then  she  had  closed  them 
again  and  I  was  alone  in  the  darkened  parlor. 

The  throbbing  in  my  head  was  gone,  and  a  great  clear 
ness  had  come  with  a  great  fear.  I  stood,  I  know  not  how 
long,  listening  to  the  groans  that  came  through  the  wall,  for 
Mrs.  Temple  was  in  agony.  At  intervals  I  heard  Helene's 
voice,  and  then  the  groans  seemed  to  stop.  Ten  times  I 
went  to  the  bedroom  door,  and  as  many  times  drew  away 
again,  my  heart  leaping  within  me  at  the  peril  which  she 
faced.  If  I  had  had  the  right,  I  believe  I  would  have  carried 
her  away  by  force. 

But  I  had  not  the  right.  I  sat  down  heavily,  by  the 
table,  to  think,  and  it  might  have  been  a  cry  of  agony 
sharper  than  the  rest  that  reminded  me  once  more  of  the 
tragedy  of  the  poor  lady  in  torture.  My  eye  fell  upon  the 
table,  and  there,  as  though  prepared  for  what  I  was  to  do, 
lay  pen  and  paper,  ink  and  sand.  My  hand  shook  as  I 
took  the  quill  and  tried  to  compose  a  letter  to  my  cousin. 
I  scarcely  saw  the  words  which  I  put  on  the  sheet,  and  I 
may  be  forgiven  for  the  unwisdom  of  that  which  I  wrote. 

"  The  Baron  de  Carondelet  will  send  an  officer  for  you  to 
night  so  that  you  may  escape  observation  in  custody.  His 
Excellency  knew  of  your  hiding-place,  but  is  inclined  to  be 
lenient,  will  allow  you  to-morrow  to  go  to  the  Rue  Bourbon,  and 
will  without  doubt  permit  you  to  leave  the  province.  Your 


THE   SCOURGE  539 

mother  is  ill,  and  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  and  myself  are  with 
her.  "DAVID." 

In  the  state  I  was  it  took  me  a  long  time  to  compose  this 
much,  and  I  had  barely  finished  it  when  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  outer  door.  There  was  Andre.  He  had  the  immo 
bility  of  face  which  sometimes  goes  with  the  mulatto,  and 
always  with  the  trained  servant,  as  he  informed  me  that 
Monsieur  le  Me*decin  was  not  at  home,  but  that  he  had  left 
word.  There  was  an  epidemic,  Monsieur,  so  Andre  feared. 
I  gave  him  the  note  and  his  directions,  and  ten  minutes  after 
he  had  gone  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  called  him 
back.  How  about  Antoinette,  alone  at  Les  lies  ?  Why 
had  I  not  thought  of  her  ?  We  had  told  her  nothing  that 
morning,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  and  I,  after  our  conference 
with  Nick.  For  the  girl  had  shut  herself  in  her  room,  and 
Madame  had  thought  it  best  not  to  disturb  her  at  such  a 
stage.  But  would  she  not  be  alarmed  when  Helene  failed 
to  return  that  night  ?  Had  circumstances  been  different, 
I  myself  would  have  ridden  to  Les  lies,  but  no  inducement 
now  could  make  me  desert  the  post  I  had  chosen.  After 
many  years  I  dislike  to  recall  to  memory  that  long  after 
noon  which  I  spent,  helpless,  in  the  Rue  Bourbon.  Now 
I  was  on  my  feet,  pacing  restlessly  the  short  breadth  of 
the  room,  trying  to  shut  out  from  my  mind  the  horrors 
of  which  my  ears  gave  testimony.  Again,  in  the  intervals 
of  quiet,  I  sat  with  my  elbows  on  the  table  and  my  head 
in  my  hands,  striving  to  allay  the  throbbing  in  my  tem 
ples.  Pains  came  and  went,  a,nd  at  times  I  felt  like  a 
fagot  flung  into  the  fire,  —  I,  who  had  never  known  a  sick 
day.  At  times  my  throat  pained  me,  an  odd  symptom  in 
a  warm  climate.  Troubled  as  I  was  in  mind  and  body, 
the  thought  of  Helene's  quiet  heroism  upheld  me  through  it 
all.  More  than  once  I  had  my  hand  raised  to  knock  at  the 
bedroom  door  and  ask  if  I  could  help,  but  I  dared  not  ;  at 
length,  the  sun  having  done  its  worst  and  spent  its  fury,  I 
began  to  hear  steps  along  the  banquette  and  voices  almost 
at  my  elbow  beyond  the  little  window.  At  every  noise  I 
peered  out,  hoping  for  the  doctor.  But  he  did  not  come. 


540  THE   CROSSING 

And  then,  as  I  fell  back  into  the  fauteuil,  there  was  borne 
on  my  consciousness  a  sound  I  had  heard  before.  It  was 
the  music  of  the  fiddler,  it  was  a  tune  I  knew,  and  the 
voices  of  the  children  were  singing  the  refrain:  — 

"  Ne  sail  quand  reviendra, 
Ne  sail  quand  reviendra." 

I  rose,  opened  the  door,  and  slipped  out  of  it,  and  I  must 
have  made  a  strange,  hatless  figure  as  I  came  upon  the 
fiddler  and  his  children  from  across  the  street. 

"  Stop  that  noise,"  I  cried  in  French,  angered  beyond  all 
reason  at  the  thought  of  music  at  such  a  time.  "  Idiots, 
there  is  yellow  fever  there." 

The  little  man  stopped  with  his  bow  raised;  for  a  moment 
they  all  stared  at  me,  transfixed.  It  was  a  little  elf  in  blue 
indienne  who  jumped  first  and  ran  down  the  street,  crying 
the  news  in  a  shrill  voice,  the  others  following,  the  fiddler 
gazing  stupidly  after  them.  Suddenly  he  scrambled  up, 
moaning,  as  if  the  scourge  itself  had  fastened  on  him,  backed 
into  the  house,  and  slammed  the  door  in  my  face.  I  re 
turned  with  slow  steps  to  shut  myself  in  the  darkened 
room  again,  and  I  recall  feeling  something  of  triumph  over 
the  consternation  I  had  caused.  No  sounds  came  from  the 
bedroom,  and  after  that  the  street  was  quiet  as  death  save 
for  an  occasional  frightened,  hurrying  footfall.  I  was  tired. 

All  at  once  the  bedroom  door  opened  softly,  and  Helene 
was  standing  there,  looking  at  me.  At  first  I  saw  her 
dimly,  as  in  a  vision,  then  clearly.  I  leaped  to  my  feet 
and  went  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  The  doctor  has  not  come,"  I  said.  "  Where  does  he 
live  ?  I  will  go  for  him." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  can  do  no  good.  Lindy  has  procured  all  the  reme 
dies,  such  as  they  are.  They  can  only  serve  to  alleviate," 
she  answered.  "  She  cannot  withstand  this,  poor  lady." 
There  were  tears  on  Helene's  lashes.  "  Her  sufferings 
have  been  frightful  —  frightful." 

"  Cannot  I  help  ?  "  I  said  thickly.  "  Cannot  I  do  some 
thing  ?  " 


THE  SCOURGE  641 

She  shook  her  head.  She  raised  her  hand  timidly  to 
the  lapel  of  my  coat,  and  suddenly  I  felt  her  palm,  cool 
and  firm,  upon  my  forehead.  It  rested  there  but  an 
instant. 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  here,"  she  said,  her  voice  vibrant 
with  earnestness  and  concern.  "You  ought  not  to  be 
here.  Will  you  not  go  —  if  I  ask  it?" 

"  I  cannot,"  I  said  ;  "  you  know  I  cannot  if  you  stay." 

She  did  not  answer  that.  Our  eyes  met,  and  in  that 
instant  for  me  there  was  neither  joy  nor  sorrow,  sick 
ness  nor  death,  nor  time  nor  space  nor  universe.  It  was 
she  who  turned  away. 

"  Have  you  written  him?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  She  would  not  have  known  him,"  said  Helene ;  "  after 
all  these  years  of  waiting  she  would  not  have  known  him. 
Her  punishment  has  been  great." 

A  sound  came  from  the  bedroom,  and  Helene  was  gone, 

silently,  as  she  had  come. 

******* 

I  must  have  been  dozing  in  the  fauteuil,  for  suddenly 
I  found  myself  sitting  up,  listening  to  an  unwonted  noise. 
I  knew  from  the  count  of  the  hoof-beats  which  came  from 
down  the  street  that  a  horse  was  galloping  in  long  strides 
—  a  spent  horse,  for  the  timing  was  irregular.  Then  he 
was  pulled  up  into  a  trot,  then  to  a  walk  as  I  ran  to  the 
door  and  opened  it  and  beheld  Nicholas  Temple  flinging 
himself  from  a  pony  white  with  lather.  And  he  was 
alone !  He  caught  sight  of  me  as  soon  as  his  foot  touched 
the  banquette. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  I  cried.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

He  halted  on  the  edge  of  the  banquette  as  a  hurrying 
man  runs  into  a  wall.  He  had  been  all  excitement,  all 
fury,  as  he  jumped  from  his  horse ;  and  now,  as  he  looked 
at  me,  he  seemed  to  lose  his  bearings,  to  be  all  bewilder 
ment.  He  cried  out  my  name  and  stood  looking  at  me 
like  a  fool. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  ? "  I 


542  THE   CKOSSmG 

cried.  "  Did  I  not  write  you  to  stay  where  you  were  ? 
How  did  you  get  here  ?  "  I  stepped  down  on  the  banquette 
and  seized  him  by  the  shoulders.  "  Did  you  receive  my 
letter?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "yes."  For  a  moment  that  was  as  far 
as  he  got,  and  he  glanced  down  the  street  and  then  at  the 
heaving  beast  he  had  ridden,  which  stood  with  head  droop 
ing  to  the  kennel.  Then  he  laid  hold  of  me.  "  Davy,  is 
it  true  that  she  has  yellow  fever  ?  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Who  told  you?  "  I  demanded  angrily. 

"Andre,"  he  answered.  "Andre  said  that  the  lady 
here  had  yellow  fever.  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said  almost  inaudibly. 

He  let  his  hand  fall  from  my  shoulder,  and  he  shivered. 

"  May  God  forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done !  "  he  said. 
"Where  is  she?" 

"For  what  you  have  done?"  I  cried  ;  "you  have  done 
an  insensate  thing  to  come  here."  Suddenly  I  remembered 
the  sentry  at  the  gate  of  Fort  St.  Charles.  "  How  did 
you  get  into  the  city?"  I  said;  "were  you  mad  to  defy 
the  Baron  and  his  police?  " 

"  Damn  the  Baron  and  his  police,"  he  answered,  striving 
to  pass  me.  "  Let  me  in  !  Let  me  see  her." 

Even  as  he  spoke  I  caught  sight  of  men  coming  into  the 
street,  perhaps  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Pierre,  and 
then  more  men,  and  as  we  went  into  the  house  I  saw  that 
they  were  running.  I  closed  the  doors.  There  were  cries 
in  the  street  now,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  heed  them.  He 
stood  listening,  heart-stricken,  to  the  sounds  that  came 
through  the  bedroom  wall,  and  a  spasm  crossed  his  face. 
Then  he  turned  like  a  man  not  to  be  denied,  to  the  bed 
room  door.  I  was  before  him,  but  Madame  la  Vicomtesse 
opened  it.  And  I  remember  feeling  astonishment  that 
she  did  not  show  surprise  or  alarm. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Mr.  Temple?"  she  said. 

"  My  mother,  Madame  !    My  mother !    I  must  go  to  her. " 

He  pushed  past  her  into  the  bedroom,  and  I  followed 
perforce.  I  shall  never  forget  the  scene,  though  I  had 
but  the  one  glimpse  of  it,  —  the  raving,  yellowed  woman 


THE   SCOUKGE  543 

in  the  bed,  not  a  spectre  nor  yet  even  a  semblance  of  the 
beauty  of  Temple  Bow.  But  she  was  his  mother,  upon 
whom  God  had  brought  such  a  retribution  as  He  alor*e 
can  bestow.  Lindy,  faithful  servant  to  the  end,  held  ths 
wasted  hands  of  her  mistress  against  the  violence  the}" 
would  have  done.  Lindy  held  them,  her  own  body  rock 
ing  with  grief,  her  lips  murmuring  endearments,  prayers, 
supplications. 

"Miss  Sally,  honey,  doan  you  know  Lindy?  Gawd '11 
let  you  git  well,  Miss  Sally,  Gawd  '11  let  you  git  well, 
honey,  ter  see  Marse  Nick  —  ter  see  —  Marse  —  Nick  —  ' 

The  words  died  on  Lindy's  lips,  the  ravings  of  the 
frenzied  woman  ceased.  The  yellowed  hands  fell  limply 
to  the  sheet,  the  shrunken  form  stiffened.  The  eyes  of 
the  mother  looked  upon  the  son,  and  in  them  at  first  was 
the  terror  of  one  who  sees  the  infinite.  Then  they  soft 
ened  until  they  became  again  the  only  feature  that  was 
left  of  Sarah  Temple.  Now,  as  she  looked  at  him  who 
was  her  pride,  her  honor,  for  one  sight  of  whom  she  had 
prayed,  —  ay,  and  even  blasphemed, — her  eyes  were  all 
tenderness.  Then  she  spoke. 

"  Harry,"  she  said  softly,  "  be  good  to  me,  dear.  You 
are  all  I  have  now." 

She  spoke  of  Harry  Riddle  ! 

But  the  long  years  of  penance  had  not  been  in  vain. 
Nick  had  forgiven  her.  We  saw  him  kneeling  at  the 
bedside,  we  saw  him  with  her  hand  in  his,  and  Helene 
was  drawing  me  gently  out  of  the  room  and  closing  the 
door  behind  her.  She  did  not  look  at  me,  nor  I  at  her. 

We  stood  for  a  moment  close  together,  and  suddenly 
the  cries  in  the  street  brought  us  back  from  the  drama  in 
the  low-ceiled,  reeking  room  we  had  left. 

"Id!   Id!    Void  le  cheval !  " 

There  was  a  loud  rapping  at  the  outer  door,  and  a  voice 
demanding  admittance  in  Spanish  in  the  name  of  his 
Excellency  the  Governor. 

"  Open  it,"  said  Helene.  There  was  neither  excitement 
in  her  voice,  nor  yet  resignation.  In  those  two  words  was 
told  the  philosophy  of  her  life. 


544  THE  CROSSING 

I  opened  the  door.  There,  on  the  step,  was  an  officer, 
perspiring,  uniformed  and  plumed,  and  behind  him  a  crowd 
of  eager  faces,  white  and  black,  that  seemed  to  fill  the 
street.  He  took  a  step  into  the  room,  his  hand  on  the  hilt 
of  his  sword,  and  poured  out  at  me  a  torrent  of  Spanish  of 
which  I  understood  nothing.  All  at  once  his  eye  fell  upon 
Helene,  who  was  standing  behind  me,  and  he  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  his  speech  and  pulled  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
profoundly. 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  !  "  he  stammered.  I  was  no 
little  surprised  that  she  should  be  so  well  known. 

"  You  will  please  to  speak  French,  Monsieur,"  she  said; 
"this  gentleman  does  not  understand  Spanish.  What  is 
it  you  desire  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  he  said. 
*'  I  am  the  Alcalde  de  Barrio,  and  a  wild  Americano  has 
passed  the  sentry  at  St.  Charles's  gate  without  heeding 
his  Excellency's  authority  and  command.  I  saw  the  man 
with  my  own  eyes.  I  should  know  him  again  in  a 
hundred.  We  have  traced  him  here  to  this  house,  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse.  Behold  the  horse  which  he  rode  !  "  The 
Alcalde  turned  and  pointed  at  the  beast.  "  Behold  the 
horse  which  he  rode,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse.  The  animal 
will  die." 

"  Probably,"  answered  the  Vicomtesse,  in  an  even  tone. 

"  But  the  man,"  cried  the  Alcalde,  "  the  man  is  here, 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse,  here,  in  this  house  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  he  is  here." 

" Sancta  Maria!  Madame,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  —  I  who 
speak  to  you  have  come  to  get  him.  He  has  defied  his 
Excellency's  commands.  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  that  room,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  pointing  at 
the  bedroom  door. 

The  Alcalde  took  a  step  forward.  She  stopped  him  by 
a  quick  gesture. 

"  He  is  in  that  room  with  his  mother,"  she  said,  "  and 
his  mother  has  the  yellow  fever.  Come,  we  will  go  to 
him."  And  she  put  her  hand  upon  the  door. 

"  Yellow  fever  !  "  cried  the  Alcalde,  and  his  voice  was 


THE   SCOURGE  545 

thick  with  terror.  There  was  a  moment's  silence  as  he 
stood  rooted  to  the  floor.  I  did  not  wonder  then,  but  I 
have  since  thought  it  remarkable  that  the  words  spoken 
low  by  both  of  them  should  have  been  caught  up  on  the 
banquette  and  passed  into  the  street.  Impassive,  I  heard 
it  echoed  from  a  score  of  throats,  I  saw  men  and  women 
stampeding  like  frightened  sheep,  I  heard  their  footfalls 
and  their  cries  as  they  ran.  A  tawdry  constable,  who 
held  with  a  trembling  hand  the  bridle  of  the  tired  horse, 
alone  remained. 

"  Yellow  fever  I  "  the  Alcalde  repeated. 

The  Vicomtesse  inclined  her  head. 

He  was  silent  again  for  a  while,  uncertain,  and  then, 
without  comprehending,  I  saw  the  man's  eyes  grow 
smaller  and  a  smile  play  about  his  mouth.  He  looked  at 
the  Vicomtesse  with  a  new  admiration  to  which  she  paid 
no  heed. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  he  began, 
«  but  —  " 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  that  I  speak  the  truth,"  she 
replied  quietly. 

He  winced. 

"  Will  you  follow  me  ?  "  she  said,  turning  again. 

He  had  started,  plainly  in  an  agony  of  fear,  when  a 
sound  came  from  beyond  the  wall  that  brought  a  cry  to 
his  lips. 

Her  manner  changed  to  one  of  stinging  scorn. 

"  You  are  a  coward,"  she  said.  "  I  will  bring  the  gentle 
man  to  you  if  he  can  be  got  to  leave  the  bedside." 

"No,"  said  the  Alcalde,  "no.  I  —  I  will  go  to  him, 
Madame  la  Vicomtesse." 

But  she  did  not  open  the  door. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  authority,  "  I  myself 
have  been  to  his  Excellency  to-day  concerning  this 
gentleman  —  " 

"  You,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  ?  " 

"  I  will  open  the  door,"  she  continued,  impatient  at  the 
interruption,  "  and  you  will  see  him.  Then  I  shall  write  a 
letter  which  you  will  take  to  the  Governor.  The  gentle- 


546  THE   CBOSSING 

man  will  not  try  to  escape,  for  his  mother  is  dying.  Be 
sides,  he  could  not  get  out  of  the  city.  You  may  leave 
your  constable  where  he  is,  or  the  man  may  come  in  and 
stand  at  this  door  in  sight  of  the  gentleman  while  you  are 
gone  —  if  he  pleases." 

"  And  then  ?  "  said  the  Alcalde. 

"  It  is  my  belief  that  his  Excellency  will  allow  the 
gentleman  to  remain  here,  and  that  you  will  be  relieved 
from  the  necessity  of  running  any  further  risk." 

As  she  spoke  she  opened  the  door,  softly.  The  room 
was  still  now,  still  as  death,  and  the  Alcalde  went  forward 
on  tiptoe.  I  saw  him  peering  in,  I  saw  him  backing  away 
again  like  a  man  in  mortal  fear. 

"  Yes,  it  is  he — it  is  the  man,"  he  stammered.  He  put 
his  hand  to  his  brow. 

The  Vicomtesse  closed  the  door,  and  without  a  glance 
at  him  went  quickly  to  the  table  and  began  to  write. 
She  had  no  thought  of  consulting  the  man  again,  of  ask 
ing  his  permission.  Although  she  wrote  rapidly,  five 
minutes  must  have  gone  by  before  the  note  was  finished 
and  folded  and  sealed.  She  held  it  out  to  him. 

"  Take  this  to  his  Excellency,"  she  said,  "  and  bring  me 
his  answer."  The  Alcalde  bowed,  murmured  her  title, 
and  went  lamely  out  of  the  house.  He  was  plainly  in  an 
agony  of  uncertainty  as  to  his  duty,  but  he  glanced  at  the 
Vicomtesse  —  and  went,  flipping  the  note  nervously  with 
his  finger  nail.  He  paused  for  a  few  low-spoken  words 
with  the  tawdry  constable,  who  sat  down  on  the  banquette 
after  his  chief  had  gone,  still  clinging  to  the  bridle.  The 
Vicomtesse  went  to  the  doorway,  looked  at  him,  and 
closed  the  battened  doors.  The  constable  did  not  protest. 
The  day  was  fading  without,  and  the  room  was  almost  in 
darkness  as  she  crossed  over  to  the  little  mantel  and  stood 
with  her  head  laid  upon  her  arm. 

I  did  not  disturb  her.  The  minutes  passed,  the  light 
waned  until  I  could  see  her  no  longer,  and  yet  I  knew 
that  she  had  not  moved.  The  strange  sympathy  between 
us  kept  me  silent  until  I  heard  her  voice  calling  my 
name. 


THE   SCOUBGE  547 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  The  candle  !  " 

I  drew  out  my  tinder-box  and  lighted  the  wick.  She 
had  turned,  and  was  facing  me  even  as  she  had  faced  me 
the  night  before.  The  night  before  !  The  greatest  part 
of  my  life  seemed  to  have  passed  since  then.  I  remember 
wondering  that  she  did  not  look  tired.  Her  face  was  sad ; 
her  voice  was  sad,  and  it  had  an  ineffable,  swee !:  quality  at 
such  times  that  was  all  its  own. 

"  The  Alcalde  should  be  coming  back,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

These  were  our  words,  yet  we  scarce  heeded  their 
meaning.  Between  us  was  drawn  a  subtler  communion 
than  speech,  and  we  dared  —  neither  of  us  —  to  risk 
speech.  She  searched  my  face,  but  her  lips  were  closed. 
She  did  not  take  my  hand  again  as  in  the  afternoon.  She 
turned  away.  I  knew  what  she  would  have  said. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  We  went  together  to 
open  it,  and  the  Alcalde  stood  on  the  step.  He  held  in 
his  hand  a  long  letter  on  which  the  red  seal  caught  the 
light,  and  he  gave  the  letter  to  the  Vicomtesse,  with 
a  bow. 

"  From  his  Excellency,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse." 

She  broke  the  seal,  went  to  the  table,  and  read.  Then 
she  looked  up  at  me. 

"  It  is  the  Governor's  permit  for  Mr.  Temple  to  remain 
in  this  house.  Thank  you,"  she  said  to  the  Alcalde;  "you 
may  go." 

"  With  my  respectful  wishes  for  the  continued  good 
health  of  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  said  the  Alcalde. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"IN   THE   MIDST    OF   LIFE" 

THE  Alcalde  had  stopped  on  the  step  with  an  exclama 
tion  at  something  in  the  darkness  outside,  and  he  backed, 
bowing,  into  the  room  again  to  make  way  for  some  one. 
A  lady,  slim,  gowned  and  veiled  in  black  and  followed 
by  a  negress,  swept  past  him.  The  lady  lifted  her  veil 
and  stood  before  us. 

"  Antoinette  !  "  exclaimed  the  Vicomtesse,  going  to  her. 

The  girl  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  suffering  seemed 
to  have  brought  upon  her  a  certain  acceptance  of  misfor 
tune  as  inevitable.  Her  face,  framed  in  the  black  veil, 
was  never  more  beautiful  than  on  that  night. 

"  What  is  the  Alcalde  doing  here  ?  "  she  said. 

The  officer  himself  answered  the  question. 

"  I  am  leaving,  Mademoiselle,"  said  he.  He  reached 
out  his  hands  toward  her,  appealingly.  "  Do  you  not 
remember  me,  Mademoiselle  ?  You  brought  the  good 
sister  to  see  my  wife." 

"  I  remember  you,"  said  Antoinette. 

"  Do  not  stay  here,  Mademoiselle  I  "  he  cried.  "  There 
is  —  there  is  yellow  fever." 

"  So  that  is  it,"  said  Antoinette,  unheeding  him  and 
looking  at  her  cousin.  "  She  has  yellow  fever,  then  ?" 

"  I  beg  you  to  come  away,  Mademoiselle  !  "  the  man 
entreated. 

"  Please  go,"  she  said  to  him.  He  looked  at  her,  and 
went  out  silently,  closing  the  doors  after  him.  "  Why 
was  he  here  ? "  she  asked  again. 

"  He  came  to  get  Mr.  Temple,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Vicomtesse.  The  girl's  lips  framed  his  name,  but  did  not 
speak  it. 

648 


"IN  THE  MIDST   OF  LIFE"  549 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked  slowly. 

The  Vicomtesse  pointed  towards  the  bedroom. 

"In  there,"  she  answered,  "with  his  mother." 

"He  came  to  her?"  Antoinette  asked  quite  simply. 

The  Vicomtesse  glanced  at  me,  and  drew  the  veil 
gently  from  the  girl's  shoulders.  She  led  her,  unresisting, 
to  a  chair.  I  looked  at  them.  The  difference  in  their 
ages  was  not  so  great.  Both  had  suffered  cruelly  ;  one 
had  seen  the  world,  the  other  had  not,  and  yet  the  con 
trast  lay  not  here.  Both  had  followed  the  gospel  of  help 
fulness  to  others,  but  one  as  a  religieuse,  innocent  of  the 
sin  around  her,  though  poignant  of  the  sorrow  it  caused. 
The  other,  knowing  evil  with  an  insight  that  went  far 
beyond  intuition,  fought  with  that,  too. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Antoinette,"  began  the  Vicomtesse; 
"it  was  as  you  said.  Mr.  Ritchie  and  I  found  him  at 
Lamarque's.  He  had  not  taken  your  money;  he  did  not 
even  know  that  Auguste  had  gone  to  see  you.  He  did 
not  even  know,"  she  said,  bending  over  the  girl,  "  that  he 
was  on  your  father's  plantation.  When  we  told  him  that, 
he  would  have  left  it  at  once." 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  He  did  not  know  that  his  mother  was  still  in  New 
Orleans.  And  when  we  told  him  how  ill  she  was  he 
would  have  come  to  her  then.  It  was  as  much  as  we 
could  do  to  persuade  him  to  wait  until  we  had  seen  Mon 
sieur  de  Carondelet.  Mr.  Ritchie  and  I  came  directly  to 
town  and  saw  his  Excellency." 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  Vicomtesse  that  she  told  this 
almost  with  a  man's  brevity,  that  she  omitted  the  stress 
and  trouble  and  pain  of  it  all.  These  things  were  done ; 
the  tact  and  skill  and  character  of  her  who  had  accom 
plished  them  were  not  spoken  of.  The  girl  listened 
immovable,  her  lips  parted  and  her  eyes  far  away.  Sud 
denly,  with  an  awakening,  she  turned  to  Heldne. 

"  You  did  this  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  and  I  together,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

Her  next  exclamation  was  an  odd  one,  showing  how  the 
mind  works  at  such  a  time. 


550  THE  CEOSSING 

"  But  his  Excellency  was  having  his  siesta ! "  said 
Antoinette. 

Again  HelSne  glanced  at  me,  but  I  cannot  be  sure  that 
she  smiled. 

"  We  thought  the  matter  of  sufficient  importance  to 
awake  his  Excellency,"  said  Helene. 

"  And  his  Excellency  ?  "  asked  Antoinette.  In  that 
moment  all  three  of  us  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the 
tragedy  behind  the  wall. 

"  His  Excellency  thought  so,  too,  when  we  had  explained 
it  sufficiently,"  Helene  answered. 

The  girl  seemed  suddenly  to  throw  off  the  weight  of 
her  grief.  She  seized  the  hand  of  the  Vicomtesse  in  both 
of  her  own. 

"  The  Baron  pardoned  him  ?"  she  cried.  "  Tell  me  what 
his  Excellency  said.  Why  are  you  keeping  it  from  me  ?  " 

"  Hush,  my  dear,"  said  the  Vicomtesse.  "  Yes,  he 
pardoned  him.  Mr.  Temple  was  to  have  come  to  the  city 
to-night  with  an  officer.  Mr.  Ritchie  and  I  came  to  this 
house  together,  and  we  found —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Antoinette. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  wrote  to  Mr.  Temple  that  his  Excellency 
was  to  send  for  him  to-night,  but  Andre  told  him  of  the 
fever,  and  he  came  here  in  the  face  of  danger  to  see  her 
before  she  died.  He  galloped  past  the  sentry  at  the  gate, 
and  the  Alcalde  followed  him  from  there." 

"And  came  here  to  arrest  him  ?"  cried  Antoinette. 
Before  the  Vicomtesse  could  prevent  her  she  sprang  from 
her  chair,  ran  to  the  door,  and  was  peering  out  into  the 
darkness.  "  Is  the  Alcalde  waiting  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  gently  bringing  her 
back.  "  I  wrote  to  his  Excellency  and  we  have  his  per 
mission  for  Mr.  Temple  to  remain  here." 

Suddenly  Antoinette  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
facing  the  candle,  her  hands  clasped,  her  eyes  wide  with 
fear.  We  started,  Helene  and  I,  as  we  looked  at  her. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  said  the  Vicomtesse,  laying  a 
hand  on  her  arm. 

"He  will  take  it,"  she  said,  "he  will  take  the  fever." 


"IN  THE  MIDST   OF  LIFE"  551 

A  strange  thing  happened.  Many,  many  times  have  I 
thought  of  it  since,  and  I  did  not  know  its  meaning  then. 
I  had  looked  to  see  the  Vicomtesse  comfort  her.  But 
Helene  took  a  step  towards  me,  my  eyes  met  hers,  and  in 
them  reflected  was  the  terror  I  had  seen  in  Antoinette's. 
At  that  instant  I,  too,  forgot  the  girl,  and  we  turned  to  see 
that  she  had  sunk  down,  weeping,  in  the  chair.  Then  we 
both  went  to  her,  I  through  some  instinct  I  did  not  fathom. 

Helene's  hand,  resting  on  Antoinette's  shoulder,  trem 
bled  there.  It  may  well  have  been  my  own  weakness  which 
made  me  think  her  body  swayed,  which  made  me  reach 
out  as  if  to  catch  her.  However  marvellous  her  strength 
a'nd  fortitude,  these  could  not  last  forever.  And  —  Heaven 
help  me  —  my  own  were  fast  failing.  Once  the  room  had 
seemed  to  me  all  in  darkness.  Then  I  saw  the  Vicomtesse 
leaning  tenderly  over  her  cousin  and  whispering  in  her 
ear,  and  Antoinette  rising,  clinging  to  her. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  faltered,  "  I  will  go.  He  must  not  know 
I  have  been  here.  You  —  you  will  not  tell  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  tell  him,"  answered  the  Vicomtesse. 

"And  —  you  will  send  word  to  me,  Helene?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

Antoinette  kissed  her,  and  began  to  adjust  her  veil 
mechanically.  I  looked  on,  bewildered  by  the  workings 
of  the  feminine  mind.  Why  was  she  going?  The 
Vicomtesse  gave  me  no  hint.  But  suddenly  the  girl's 
arms  fell  to  her  sides,  and  she  stood  staring,  not  so  much 
as  a  cry  escaping  her.  The  bedroom  doors  had  been 
opened,  and  between  them  was  the  tall  figure  of  Nicholas 
Temple.  So  they  met  again  after  many  years,  and  she  who 
had  parted  them  had  brought  them  together  once  more. 
He  came  a  step  into  the  room,  as  though  her  eyes  had 
drawn  him  so  far.  Even  then  he  did  not  speak  her  name. 

"  Go,"  he  said.     "  Go,  you  must  not  stay  here.     Go  !  " 

She  bowed  her  head. 

" I  was  going,"  she  answered.     "I  —  I  am  going." 

"  But  you  must  go  at  once,"  he  cried  excitedly.  "  Do 
you  know  what  is  in  there  ?  "  and  he  pointed  towards  the 
bedroom. 


552  THE   CROSSING 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  "I  know." 

"  Then  go,"  he  cried.  "  As  it  is  you  have  risked  too 
much." 

She  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  There  was 
a  new-born  note  in  her  voice,  a  tremulous  note  of  joy  in 
the  midst  of  sorrow.  It  was  of  her  he  was  thinking ! 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  said.    "  You  have  come  and  remained." 

"  She  is  my  mother,"  he  answered.  "  God  knows  it  was 
the  least  I  could  have  done." 

Twice  she  had  changed  before  our  eyes,  and  now  we 
beheld  a  new  and  yet  more  startling  transformation. 
When  she  spoke  there  was  no  reproach  in  her  voice,  but 
triumph.  Antoinette  undid  her  veil. 

"  Yes,  she  is  your  mother,"  she  answered ;  "  but  for  many 
years  she  has  been  my  friend.  I  will  go  to  her.  She  can 
not  forbid  me  now.  Helene  has  been  with  her,"  she  said, 
turning  to  where  the  Vicomtesse  stood  watching  her 
intently.  "Helene  has  been  with  her.  And  shall  I, 
who  have  longed  to  see  her  these  many  years,  leave 
her  now  ?  " 

"  But  you  were  going  !  "  he  cried,  beside  himself  with 
apprehension  at  this  new  turning.  "  You  told  me  that  you 
were  going." 

Truly,  man  is  born  without  perception. 

"  Yes,  I  told  you  that,"  she  replied  almost  defiantly. 

"  And  why  were  you  going  ?  "  he  demanded.  Then  I 
had  a  sudden  desire  to  shake  him. 

Antoinette  was  mute. 

"  You  yourself  must  find  the  answer  to  that  question, 
Mr.  Temple,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  quietly. 

He  turned  and  stared  at  Helene,  and  she  seemed  to 
smile.  Then  as  his  eyes  went  back,  irresistibly,  to  the 
other,  a  light  that  was  wonderful  to  see  dawned  and  grew 
in  them.  I  shall  never  forget  him  as  he  stood,  handsome 
and  fearless,  a  gentleman  still,  despite  his  years  of  wander 
ing  and  adventure,  and  in  this  supreme  moment  unselfish. 
The  wilful,  masterful  boy  had  become  a  man  at  last. 

He  started  forward,  stopped,  trembling  with  a  shock  of 
remembrance,  and  gave  back  again. 


"IN  THE  MIDST   OF  LIFE"  653 

"  You  cannot  come,"  he  said ;  "  I  cannot  let  you  take  this 
risk.  Tell  her  she  cannot  come,  Madame,"  he  said  to 
Helene.  "  For  the  love  of  God  send  her  home  again." 

But  there  were  forces  which  even  Helene  could  not  stem. 
He  had  turned  to  go  back,  he  had  seized  the  door,  but 
Antoinette  was  before  him.  Custom  does  not  weigh  at 
such  a  time.  Had  she  not  read  his  avowal  ?  She  had  his 
hand  in  hers,  heedless  of  us  who  watched.  At  first  he 
sought  to  free  himself,  but  she  clung  to  it  with  all  the 
strength  of  her  love,  —  yet  she  did  not  look  up  at  him. 

"  I  will  come  with  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  will 
come  with  you,  Nick." 

How  quaintly  she  spoke  his  name,  and  gently,  and  timidly 
—  ay,  and  with  a  supreme  courage.  True  to  him  through 
all  those  numb  years  of  waiting,  this  was  a  little  thing  — 
that  they  should  face  death  together.  A  little  thing,  and 
yet  the  greatest  joy  that  God  can  bestow  upon  a  good 
woman.  He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  great  tenderness, 
he  spoke  her  name,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  taken  her  at 
last  into  his  arms. 

"  Come,"  he  said. 

They  went  in  together,  and  the  doors  closed  behind  them. 
******* 

Antoinette's  maid  was  on  the  step,  and  the  Vicomtesse 
and  I  were  alone  once  more  in  the  little  parlor.  I  re 
member  well  the  sense  of  unreality  I  had,  and  how  it 
troubled  me.  I  remember  how  what  I  had  seen  and  heard 
was  turning,  turning  in  my  mind.  Nick  had  come  back 
to  Antoinette.  They  were  together  in  that  room,  and  Mrs. 
Temple  was  dying  —  dyingv  No,  it  could  not  be  so.  Again, 
I  was  in  the  garden  at  Les  lies  on  a  night  that  was  all  per 
fume,  and  I  saw  the  flowers  all  ghostly  white  under  the 
moon.  And  then,  suddenly,  I  was  watching  the  green 
candle  sputter,  and  out  of  the  stillness  came  a  cry  —  the 
sereno  calling  the  hour  of  the  night.  How  my  head 
throbbed  !  It  was  keeping  time  to  some  rhythm,  I  knew 
not  what.  Yes,  it  was  the  song  my  father  used  to  sing  :  — 

"  I've  faught  on  land,  I've  fought  at  sea, 
At  hame  I've  faught  my  aunty,  01" 


554  THE  CROSSING 

But  New  Orleans  was  hot,  burning  hot,  and  this  could  not 
be  cold  I  felt.  Ah,  I  had  it,  the  water  was  cold  going  to 
Vincennes,  so  cold ! 

A  voice  called  me.  No  matter  where  I  had  gone,  I 
think  I  would  have  come  back  at  the  sound  of  it.  I  lis 
tened  intently,  that  I  might  lose  no  word  of  what  it  said. 
I  knew  the  voice.  Had  it  not  called  to  me  many  times  in 
my  life  before  ?  But  now  there  was  fear  in  it,  and  fear 
gave  it  a  vibrant  sweetness,  fear  gave  it  a  quality  that 
made  it  mine  —  mine. 

"You  are  shivering." 

That  was  all  it  said,  and  it  called  from  across  the  sea. 
And  the  sea  was  cold,  —  cold  and  green  under  the  gray 
light.  If  she  who  called  to  me  would  only  come  with  the 
warmth  of  her  love  !  The  sea  faded,  the  light  fell,  and  I 
was  in  the  eternal  cold  of  space  between  the  whirling 
worlds.  If  she  could  but  find  me  !  Was  not  that  her  hand 
in  mine  ?  Did  I  not  feel  her  near  me,  touching  me  ?  I 
wondered  that  I  should  hear  myself  as  I  answered  her. 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  I  said.     "  Speak  to  me  again." 

She  was  pressing  my  hand  now,  I  saw  her  bending  over 
me,  I  felt  her  hair  as  it  brushed  my  face.  She  spoke  again. 
There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  to  that  alone  I  lis 
tened.  The  words  were  decisive,  of  command,  and  with 
them  some  sense  as  of  a  haven  near  came  to  me.  Another 
voice  answered  in  a  strange  tongue,  saying  seemingly :  — 

"  Oui,  Madame  — malS  couri —  bon  dj£ !  —  malS  couri! " 

I  heard  the  doors  close,  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  run 
ning  and  dying  along  the  banquette,  and  after  that  my 
shoulders  were  raised  and  something  wrapped  about  them. 
Then  stillness  again,  the  stillness  that  comes  between  wak 
ing  and  sleeping,  between  pain  and  calm.  And  at  times 
when  I  felt  her  hand  fall  into  mine  or  press  against  my 
brow,  the  pain  seemed  more  endurable.  After  that  I  re 
call  being  lifted,  being  borne  along.  I  opened  my  eyes 
once  and  saw,  above  a  tile-crowned  wall,  the  moon  all 
yellow  and  distorted  in  the  sky.  Then  a  gate  clicked, 
dungeon  blackness,  half-light  again,  ascent,  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  XII 

VISIONS,   AND  AN   AWAKENING 

I  HAVE  still  sharp  memories  of  the  tortures  of  that  ill 
ness,  though  it  befell  so  long  ago.  At  times,  when  my 
mind  was  gone  from  me,  I  cried  out  I  know  not  what  of 
jargon,  of  sentiment,  of  the  horrors  I  had  beheld  in  my 
life.  I  lived  again  the  pleasant  scenes,  warped  and  bur 
lesqued  almost  beyond  cognizance,  and  the  tragedies  were 
magnified  a  hundred  fold.  Thus  it  would  be  :  on  the 
low,  white  ceiling  five  cracks  came  together,  and  that  was 
a  device.  And  the  device  would  take  on  color,  red-bronze 
like  the  sumach  in  the  autumn  and  streaks  of  vermilion, 
and  two  glowing  coals  that  were  eyes,  and  above  them 
eagles'  feathers,  and  the  cracks  became  bramble  bushes. 
I  was  behind  the  log,  and  at  times  I  started  and  knew 
that  it  was  a  hideous  dream,  and  again  Polly  Ann  was 
clutching  me  and  praying  me  to  hold  back,  and  I  broke 
from  her  and  splashed  over  the  slippery  limestone  bed  of 
the  creek  to  fight  single-handed.  Through  all  the  fearful 
struggle  I  heard  her  calling  me  pkeously  to  come  back  to 
her.  When  the  brute  got  me  under  water  I  could  not 
hear  her,  but  her  voice  came  back  suddenly  (as  when  a 
door  opens)  and  it  was  like  the  wind  singing  in  the 
poplars.  Was  it  Polly  Ann's  voice  ? 

Again,  I  sat  with  Nick  under  the  trees  on  the  lawn  at 
Temple  Bow,  and  the  world  was  dark  with  the  coming 
storm.  I  knew  and  he  knew  that  the  storm  was  brewing 
that  I  might  be  thrust  out  into  it.  And  then  in  the  black 
ness,  when  the  air  was  filled  with  all  the  fair  things  of 
the  earth  torn  asunder,  a  beautiful  woman  came  through 
the  noise  and  the  fury,  and  we  ran  to  her  and  clung  to 

555 


556  THE  CROSSING 

her  skirts,  thinking  we  had  found  safety.  But  she  thrust 
us  forth  into  the  blackness  with  a  smile,  as  though  she 
were  flinging  papers  out  of  the  window.  She,  too,  grew 
out  of  the  design  in  the  cracks  of  the  ceiling,  and  a 
greater  fear  seized  me  at  sight  of  her  features  than  when 
the  red  face  came  out  of  the  brambles. 

My  constant  torment  was  thirst.  I  was  in  the  prairie, 
and  it  was  scorched  and  brown  to  the  horizon.  I  searched 
and  prayed  pitifully  for  water,  —  for  only  a  sip  of  the 
brown  water  with  the  specks  in  it  that  was  in  the  swamp. 
There  were  no  swamps.  I  was  on  the  bed  in  the  cabin 
looking  at  the  shifts  and  hunting  shirts  on  the  pegs,  and 
Polly  Ann  would  bring  a  gourdful  of  clear  water  from  the 
spring  as  far  as  the  door.  Nay,  once  I  got  it  to  my  lips, 
and  it  was  gone.  Sometimes  a  young  man  in  a  hunting 
shirt,  square-shouldered,  clear-eyed,  his  face  tanned  and 
his  fair  hair  bleached  by  the  sun,  would  bring  the  water. 
He  was  the  hero  of  my  boyhood,  and  part  of  him  indeed 
was  in  me.  And  I  would  have  followed  him  again  to 
Vincennes  despite  the  tortures  of  the  damned.  But  when 
I  spoke  his  name  he  grew  stouter  before  me,  and  his  eyes 
lost  their  lustre  and  his  hair  turned  gray  ;  and  his  hand 
shook  as  he  held  out  the  gourd  and  spilled  its  contents 
ere  I  could  reach  them. 

Sometimes  another  brought  the  water,  and  at  sight  of 
her  I  would  tremble  and  grow  faint,  and  I  had  not  the 
strength  to  reach  for  it.  She  would  look  at  me  with  eyes 
that  laughed  despite  the  resolution  of  the  mouth.  Then 
the  eyes  would  grow  pitiful  at  my  helplessness,  and  she 
would  murmur  my  name.  There  was  some  reason  which 
I  never  fathomed  why  she  could  not  give  me  the  water,  and 
her  own  suffering  seemed  greater  than  mine  because  of  it. 
So  great  did  it  seem  that  I  forgot  my  own  and  sought  to 
comfort  her.  Then  she  would  go  away,  very  slowly,  and 
I  would  hear  her  calling  to  me  in  the  wind,  from  the  stars 
to  which  I  looked  up  from  the  prairie.  It  was  she,  I 
thought,  who  ordered  the  world.  Who,  when  women 
were  lost  and  men  cried  out  in  distress,  came  to  them 
calmly,  ministered  to  them  deftly. 


VISIONS,  AND  AN  AWAKENING  557 

Once — perhaps  a  score  of  times,  I  cannot  tell  —  was 
limned  on  the  ceiling,  where  the  cracks  were,  her  minia 
ture,  and  I  knew  what  was  coming  and  shuddered  and 
cried  aloud  because  I  could  not  stop  it.  I  saw  the  narrow 
street  of  a  strange  city  deep  down  between  high  houses, 
—  houses  with  gratings  on  the  lowest  windows,  with 
studded,  evil-looking  doors,  with  upper  stories  that  toppled 
over  to  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sky,  with  slated  roofs 
that  slanted  and  twisted  this  way  and  that  and  dormers 
peeping  from  them.  Down  in  the  street,  instead  of  the 
King's  white  soldiers,  was  a  foul,  unkempt  rabble,  creeping 
out  of  its  damp  places,  jesting,  cursing,  singing.  And  in 
the  midst  of  the  rabble  a  lady  sat  in  a  cart  high  above  it 
unmoved.  She  was  the  lady  of  the  miniature.  A  window 
in  one  of  the  jutting  houses  was  flung  open,  a  little  man 
leaned  out  excitedly,  and  I  knew  him  too.  He  was  Jean 
Baptiste  Lenoir,  and  he  cried  out  in  a  shrill  voice :  — 

"  You  must  take  off  her  ruff,  citizens.  You  must  take 
off  her  ruff  !  " 

There  came  a  blessed  day  when  my  thirst  was  gone, 
when  I  looked  up  at  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling  and 
wondered  why  they  did  not  change  into  horrors.  I 
watched  them  a  long,  long  time,  and  it  seemed  incredible 
that  they  should  still  remain  cracks.  Beyond  that  I  would 
not  go,  into  speculation  I  dared  not  venture.  They  re 
mained  cracks,  and  I  went  to  sleep  thanking  God.  When 
I  awoke  a  breeze  came  in  cool,  fitful  gusts,  and  on  it  was 
the  scent  of  flowers.  I  thought  of  turning  my  head, 
and  I  remember  wondering  for  a  long  time  over  the 
expediency  of  this  move.  What  would  happen  if  I  did  ? 
Perhaps  the  visions  would  come  back,  perhaps  my  head 
*,vould  come  off.  Finally  I  decided  to  risk  it,  and  the  first 
thing  that  I  beheld  was  a  palm-leaf  fan,  moving  slowly. 
That  fact  gave  me  food  for  thought,  and  contented  me  for 
a  while.  Then  I  hit  upon  the  idea  that  there  must  be 
something  behind  the  fan.  I  was  distinctly  pleased  by 
this  astuteness,  and  I  spent  more  time  in  speculation. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  had  a  tantalizing  elusiveness,  keeping 
the  fan  between  it  and  me.  This  was  not  fair. 


558  THE  CKOSSING 

I  had  an  inspiration.  If  I  feigned  to  be  asleep,  perhaps 
the  thing  behind  the  fan  would  come  out.  I  shut  my 
eyes.  The  breeze  continued  steadily.  Surely  no  human 
being  could  fan  as  long  as  that  without  being  tired  ! 
I  opened  my  eyes  twice,  but  the  thing  was  inscrutable. 
Then  I  heard  a  sound  that  I  knew  to  be  a  footstep  upon 
boards.  A  voice  whispered:  — 

"The  delirium  has  left  him." 

Another  voice,  a  man's  voice,  answered :  — 

"Thank  God!     Let  me  fan  him.     You  are  tired." 

"  I  am  not  tired,"  answered  the  first  voice. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  have  stood  it,"  said  the  man's 
voice.  "You  will  kill  yourself,  Madame  la  Vicomtesse. 
The  danger  is  past  now." 

"  I  hope  so,  Mr.  Temple,"  said  the  first  voice.  "  Please 
go  away.  You  may  come  back  in  half  an  hour." 

I  heard  the  footsteps  retreating.  Then  I  said  :  "  I  am 
not  asleep." 

The  fan  stopped  for  a  brief  instant  and  then  went  on 
vibrating  inexorably.  I  was  entranced  at  the  thought  of 
what  I  had  done.  I  had  spoken,  though  indeed  it  seemed 
to  have  had  no  effect.  Could  it  be  that  I  hadn't  spoken  ?  I 
began  to  be  frightened  at  this,  when  gradually  something 
crept  into  my  mind  and  drove  the  fear  out.  I  did  not 
grasp  what  this  was  at  first,  it  was  like  the  first  staining  of 
wine  on  the  eastern  sky  to  one  who  sees  a  sunrise.  And 
then  the  thought  grew  even  as  the  light  grows,  tinged  by 
prismatic  colors,  until  at  length  a  memory  struck  into  my 
soul  like  a  shaft  of  light.  I  spoke  her  name,  unblushingly, 
aloud. 

"  Helene !  " 

The  fan  stopped.  There  was  a  silence  that  seemed  an 
eternity  as  the  palm  leaf  trembled  in  her  hand,  there  was 
an  answer  that  strove  tenderly  to  command. 

"  Hush,  you  must  not  talk,"  she  said. 

Never,  I  believe,  came  such  supreme  happiness  with 
obedience.  I  felt  her  hand  upon  my  brow,  and  the  fan 
moved  again.  I  fell  asleep  once  more  from  sheer  weari 
ness  of  joy.  She  was  there,  beside  me.  She  had  been 


VISIONS,  AND  AN  AWAKENING  559 

there,  beside  me,  through  it  all,  and  it  was  her  touch 
which  had  brought  me  back  to  life. 

I  dreamed  of  her.  When  I  awoke  again  her  image 
was  in  my  mind,  and  I  let  it  rest  there  in  contemplation. 
But  presently  I  thought  of  the  fan,  turned  my  head,  and 
it  was  not  there.  A  great  fear  seized  me.  I  looked  out 
of  the  open  door  where  the  morning  sun  threw  the  check 
ered  shadows  of  the  honeysuckle  on  the  floor  of  the  gal 
lery,  and  over  the  railing  to  the  tree-tops  in  the  court-yard. 
The  place  struck  a  chord  in  my  memory.  Then  my  eyes 
wandered  back  into  the  room.  There  was  a  polished 
dresser,  a  crucifix  and  a  prie-dieu  in  the  corner,  a  fauteuil, 
and  another  chair  at  my  bed.  The  floor  was  rubbed  to 
an  immaculate  cleanliness,  stained  yellow,  and  on  it  lay 
clean  woven  mats.  The  room  was  empty  ! 

I  cried  out,  a  yellow  and  red  turban  shot  across  the 
window,  and  I  beheld  in  the  door  the  spare  countenance 
of  the  faithful  Lindy. 

"  Marse  Dave,"  she  cried,  "  is  you  feelin'  well,  honey  ?  " 

"  Where  am  I,  Lindy  ?  "  I  asked. 

Lindy,  like  many  of  her  race,  knew  well  how  to  as 
sume  airs  of  importance.  Lindy  had  me  down,  and  she 
knew  it. 

"  Marse  Dave,"  she  said,  "  doan  yo'  know  better'n  dat  ? 
Yo'  know  yo'  ain't  ter  talk.  Lawsy,  I  reckon  I  wouldn't 
be  wuth  pizen  if  she  was  to  hear  I  let  yo'  talk." 

Lindy  implied  that  there  was  tyranny  somewhere. 

"  She  ?  "  I  asked,  "  who's  she  ?  " 

"Now  yo'  hush,  Marse  Dave,"  said  Lindy,  in  a  shrill 
whisper,  "  I  ain't  er-gwine  ter  git  mixed  up  in  no  disputa 
tion.  Ef  she  was  ter  hear  me  er-disputin'  wid  yo',  Marse 
Dave,  I  reckon  I'd  done  git  such  er  tongue -lashin'  — " 
Lindy  looked  at  me  suspiciously.  "Yo'-er  allus  was 
powe'rful  cute,  Marse  Dave." 

Lindy  set  her  lips  with  a  mighty  resolve  to  be  silent. 
I  heard  some  one  coming  along  the  gallery,  and  then  I 
saw  Nick's  tall  figure  looming  up  behind  her. 

"  Davy,"  he  cried. 

Lindy  braced  herself  up  doggedly. 


560  THE   CROSSING 

"  Yo'  ain't  er-gwine  to  git  in  thar  nohow,  Marse  Nick," 
she  said. 

"  Nonsense,  Lindy,"  he  answered,  "  I've  been  in  there 
as  much  as  you  have."  And  he  took  hold  of  her  thin 
arm  and  pulled  her  back. 

"  Marse  Nick  !  "  she  cried,  terror-stricken,  "  she'll  done 
fin'  out  dat  you've  been  er-talkin'." 

"  Pish  ! "  said  Nick  with  a  fine  air,  "  who's  afraid  of  her?" 

Lindy's  face  -took  on  an  expression  of  intense  amuse 
ment 

"  Yo'  is,  for  one,  Marse  Nick,"  she  answered,  with  the 
familiarity  of  an  old  servant.  "  I  done  seed  yo'  skedaddle 
when  she  corned." 

"  Tut,"  said  Nick,  grandly,  "  I  run  from  no  woman. 
Eh,  Davy  ?  "  He  pushed  past  the  protesting  Lindy  into 
the  room  and  took  my  hand. 

"  Egad,  you  have  been  near  the  devil's  precipice,  my 
son.  A  three-bottle  man  would  have  gone  over."  In 
his  eyes  was  all  the  strange  affection  he  had  had  for  me 
ever  since  we  had  been  boys  at  Temple  Bow  together. 
"  Davy,  I  reckon  life  wouldn't  have  been  worth  much  if 
you'd  gone." 

I  did  not  answer.  I  could  only  stare  at  him,  mutely 
grateful  for  such  an  affection.  In  all  his  wild  life  he  had 
been  true  to  me,  and  he  had  clung  to  me  stanchly  in 
this,  my  greatest  peril.  Thankful  that  he  was  here,  I 
searched  his  handsome  person  with  my  eyes.  He  was 
dressed,  as  usual,  with  care  and  fashion,  in  linen  breeches 
and  a  light  gray  coat  and  a  filmy  ruffle  at  his  neck.  But 
I  thought  there  had  come  a  change  into  his  face.  The 
reckless  quality  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  it,  yet  the 
spirit  and  daring  remained,  and  with  these  all  the  sweet 
ness  that  was  once  in  his  smile.  There  were  lines  under 
his  eyes  that  spoke  of  vigils. 

"  You  have  been  sitting  up  with  me,"  I  said. 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  patting  my  shoulder.  "  Of 
course  I  have.  What  did  you  think  I  would  be  doing  ?  " 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing  much,"  he  said  lightly,  "  a  touch  of  the  sun, 


VISIONS,  AND  AN  AWAKENING  561 

and  a  great  deal  of  overwork  in  behalf  of  your  friends. 
Now  keep  still,  or  I  will  be  getting  peppered." 

I  was  silent  for  a  while,  turning  over  this  answer  in  my 
mind.  Then  I  said :  — 

"  I  had  yellow  fever." 

He  started. 

"It  is  no  use  to  lie  to  you,"  he  replied;  "you're  too 
shrewd." 

I  was  silent  again  for  a  while. 

"  Nick,"  I  said,  "  you  had  no  right  to  stay  here.  You 
have  — other  responsibilities  now." 

He  laughed.  It  was  the  old  buoyant,  boyish  laugh  of 
sheer  happiness,  and  I  felt  the  better  for  hearing  it. 

"  If  you  begin  to  preach,  parson,  I'll  go ;  I  vow  I'll  have 
no  more  sermonizing.  Davy,"  he  cried,  "  isn't  she  just 
the  dearest,  sweetest,  most  beautiful  person  in  the  world?" 

I  smiled. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  I  asked,  temporizing.  Nick  was  not 
a  subtle  person,  and  I  was  ready  to  follow  him  at  great 
length  in  the  praise  of  Antoinette.  "  I  hope  she  is  not 
here." 

"  We  made  her  go  to  Les  lies,"  said  he. 

"And  you  risked  your  life  and  stayed  here  without 
her  ?  "  I  said. 

"  As  for  risking  life,  that  kind  of  criticism  doesn't  come 
well  from  you.  And  as  for  Antoinette,"  he  added  with 
a  smile,  "  I  expect  to  see  something  of  her  later  on." 

"  Well,"  I  answered  with  a  sigh  of  supreme  content, 
•"  you  have  been  a  fool  all  your  life,  and  I  hope  that  she 
will  make  you  sensible." 

"  You  never  could  make  me  so,"  said  Nick,  "  and  besides, 
I  don't  think  you've  been  so  damned  sensible  yourself." 

We  were  silent  again  for  a  space. 

"  Davy,"  he  asked,  "  do  you  remember  what  I  said  when 
you  had  that  miniature  here  ?  " 

"You  said  a  great  many  things,  I  believe." 

"  I  told  you  to  consider  carefully  the  masterful  features 
of  that  lady,  and  to  thank  God  you  hadn't  married  her. 
I  vow  I  never  thought  she'd  turn  up.  Upon  my  oath 
2o 


562  THE  CROSSING 

I  never  thought  I  should  be  such  a  blind  slave  as  I  have 
been  for  the  last  fortnight.  Faith,  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre 
is  a  strong  man,  but  he  was  no  more  than  a  puppet  in  his 
own  house  when  he  came  back  here  for  a  day.  That  lady 
could  govern  a  province,  —  no,  a  kingdom.  But  I  warrant 
you  there  would  be  no  climbing  of  balconies  in  her  domin 
ions.  I  have  never  been  so  generalled  in  my  life." 

I  had  no  answer  for  these  comments. 

"  The  deuce  of  it  is  the  way  she  does  it,"  he  continued, 
plainly  bent  on  relieving  himself.  "  There's  no  noise,  no 
fuss ;  but  you  must  obey,  you  don't  know  why.  And  yet 
you  may  flay  me  if  I  don't  love  her." 

"  Love  her  !  "  I  repeated. 

"  She  saved  your  life,"  said  Nick ;  "  I  don't  believe  any 
other  woman  could  have  done  it.  She  hadn't  any  thought 
of  her  own.  She  has  been  here,  in  this  room,  almost  con 
stantly  night  and  day,  and  she  never  let  you  go.  The 
little  French  doctor  gave  you  up  —  not  she.  She  held 
on.  Cursed  if  I  see  why  she  did  it." 

"  Nor  I,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  he  said  apologetically,  "  of  course  I  would  have 
done  it,  but  you  weren't  anything  to  her.  Yes,  egad,  you 
were  something  to  be  saved,  —  that  was  all  that  was  nec 
essary.  She  had  you  brought  back  here  —  we  are  in 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre's  house,  by  the  way  —  in  a  litter,  and 
she  took  command  as  though  she  had  nursed  yellow  fever 
cases  all  her  life.  No  flurry.  I  said  that  you  were  in 
love  with  her  once,  Davy,  when  I  saw  you  looking  at  the 
portrait.  I  take  it  back.  Of  course  a  man  could  be  very 
fond  of  her,"  he  said,  "  but  a  king  ought  to  have  married 
her.  As  for  that  poor  Vicomte  she's  tied  up  to,  I  reckon 
I  know  the  reason  why  he  didn't  come  to  America.  An 
ordinary  man  would  have  no  chance  at  all.  God  bless 
her !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  "  I  would 
die  for  her  myself.  She  got  me  out  of  a  barrel  of  trouble 
with  his  Excellency.  She  cared  for  my  mother,  a  lonely 
outcast,  and  braved  death  herself  to  go  to  her  when  she 
was  dying  of  the  fever.  God  bless  her !  " 

Lindy  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 


VISIONS,   AND  AN  AWAKENING  563 

"  Lan'  sakes,  Marse  Nick,  yo'  gotter  go,"  she  said. 

He  rose  and  pressed  my  fingers.  "  I'll  go,"  he  said, 
and  left  me.  Lindy  seated  herself  in  the  chair.  She  held 
in  her  hand  a  bowl  of  beef  broth.  From  this  she  fed  me 
in  silence,  and  when  she  left  she  commanded  me  to  sleep, 
informing  me  that  she  would  be  on  the  gallery  within 
call. 

But  I  did  not  sleep  at  once.  Nick's  words  had  brought 
back  a  fact  which  my  returning  consciousness  had  hitherto 
ignored.  The  birds  sang  in  the  court-yard,  and  when  the 
breeze  stirred  it  was  ever  laden  with  a  new  scent.  I 
had  been  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  death,  my  life  was 
before  me,  but  the  happiness  which  had  thrilled  me  was 
gone,  and  in  my  weakness  the  weight  of  the  sadness  which 
had  come  upon  me  was  almost  unbearable.  If  I  had  had 
the  strength,  I  would  have  risen  then  and  there  from  my 
bed,  I  would  have  fled  from  the  city  at  the  first  opportu 
nity.  As  it  was,  I  lay  in  a  torture  of  thought,  living  over 
again  every  part  of  my  life  which  she  had  touched.  I 
remembered  the  first  long,  yearning  look  I  had  given  the 
miniature  at  Madame  Bouvet's.  I  had  not  loved  her  then. 
My  feeling  rather  had  been  a  mysterious  sympathy  with 
and  admiration  for  this  brilliant  lady  whose  sphere  was 
so  far  removed  from  mine.  This  was  sufficiently  strange. 
Again,  in  the  years  of  my  struggle  for  livelihood  which 
followed,  I  dreamed  of  her ;  I  pictured  her  often  in  the 
midst  of  the  darkness  of  the  Revolution.  Then  I  had  the 
miniature  again,  which  had  travelled  to  her,  as  it  were, 
and  come  back  to  me.  Even  then  it  was  not  love  I  felt, 
but  an  unnamed  sentiment  for  one  whom  I  clothed  with 
gifts  and  attributes  I  admired :  constancy,  an  ability  to 
suffer  and  to  hide,  decision,  wit,  refuge  for  the  weak,  scorn 
for  the  false.  So  I  named  them  at  random  and  cherished 
them,  knowing  that  these  things  were  not  what  other 
men  longed  for  in  women.  Nay,  there  was  another  qual 
ity  which  I  believed  was  there  —  which  I  knew  was  there 
—  a  supreme  tenderness  that  was  hidden  like  a  treasure 
too  sacred  to  be  seen. 

I  did  not  seek  to  explain  the  mystery  which  had  brought 


564  THE   CEOSSING 

her  across  the  sea  into  that  little  garden  of  Mrs.  Temple's 
and  into  my  heart.  There  she  was  now  enthroned,  deified  ; 
that  she  would  always  be  there  I  accepted.  That  I  would 
never  say  or  do  anything  not  in  consonance  with  her  stand 
ards  I  knew.  That  I  would  suffer  much  I  was  sure,  but 
the  lees  of  that  suffering  I  should  hoard  because  they 
came  from  her. 

What  might  have  been  I  tried  to  put  away.  There  was 
the  moment,  I  thought,  when  our  souls  had  met  in  the  little 
parlor  in  the  Rue  Bourbon.  I  should  never  know.  This 
I  knew  —  that  we  had  labored  together  to  bring  happiness 
into  other  lives. 

Then  came  another  thought  to  appall  me.  Unmindful 
of  her  own  safety,  she  had  nursed  me  back  to  life  through 
all  the  horrors  of  the  fever.  The  doctor  had  despaired, 
and  I  knew  that  by  the  very  force  that  was  in  her  she  had 
saved  me.  She  was  here  now,  in  this  house,  and  presently 
she  would  be  coming  back  to  my  bedside.  Painfully  I 
turned  my  face  to  the  wall  in  a  torment  of  humiliation  — 
I  had  called  her  by  her  name.  I  would  see  her  again,  but 
I  knew  not  whence  the  strength  for  that  ordeal  was  to 
come. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   MYSTEEY 

I  KNEW  by  the  light  that  it  was  evening  when  I  awoke. 
So  prisoners  mark  the  passing  of  the  days  by  a  bar  of  sun 
light.  And  as  I  looked  at  the  green  trees  in  the  court 
yard,  vaguely  troubled  by  I  knew  not  what,  some  one  came 
and  stood  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Nick. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  cheerful,"  said  he ;  "a  man  ought 
to  be  who  has  been  snatched  out  of  the  fire.'' 

"  You  seem  to  be  rather  too  sure  of  my  future,"  I  said, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  That's  more  like  you,"  said  Nick.  "  Egad,  you  ought 
to  be  happy  —  we  all  ought  to  be  happy  —  she's  gone." 

"  She  !  "  I  cried.     "  Who's  gone  ?  " 

"  Madame  la  Vicomtesse,"  he  replied,  rubbing  his  hands 
as  he  stood  over  me.  "  But  she's  left  instructions  with 
me  for  Lindy  as  long  as  Monsieur  de  Carondelet's  Bando 
de  Buen  G-obierno.  You  are  not  to  do  this,  and  you  are 
not  to  do  that,  you  are  to  eat  such  and  such  things,  you 
are  to  be  made  to  sleep  at  such  and  such  times.  She  came 
in  here  about  an  hour  ago  and  took  a  long  look  at  you 
before  she  left." 

"  She  was  not  ill  ?  "  I  said  faintly. 

"  Faith,  I  don't  know  why  she  was  not,"  he  said.  "  She 
has  done  enough  to  tire  out  an  army.  But  she  seems  well 
and  fairly  happy.  She  had  her  joke  at  my  expense  as  she 
went  through  the  court-yard,  and  she  reminded  me  that  we 
were  to  send  a  report  by  Andre  every  day." 

Chagrin,  depression,  relief,  bewilderment,  all  were  strug, 
gling  within  me. 

"  Where  did  she  go  ?  "  I  asked  at  last. 

665 


566  THE   CROSSING 

"  To  Les  lies,"  he  said.  "  You  are  to  be  brought  there 
as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  why  she  went  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Now  how  the  deuce  should  I  know  ?  "  he  answered. 
"  I've  done  everything  with  blind  servility  since  I  came 
into  this  house.  I  never  asked  for  any  reason  —  it  never 
would  have  done  any  good.  I  suppose  she  thought  that 
you  were  well  on  the  road  to  recovery,  and  she  knew  that 
Lindy  was  an  old  hand.  And  then  the  doctor  is  to 
come  in." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  ?  "  I  demanded,  with  a  sudden  re 
membrance  that  he  was  staying  away  from  happiness. 

"  It  was  because  I  longed  for  another  taste  of  liberty, 
Davy,"  he  laughed.  "  You  and  I  will  have  an  old-fash 
ioned  time  here  together,  —  a  deal  of  talk,  and  perhaps  a 
little  piquet,  —  who  knows  ?  " 

My  strength  came  back,  bit  by  bit,  and  listening  to 
his  happiness  did  much  to  ease  the  soreness  of  my  heart 
—  while  the  light  lasted.  It  was  in  the  night  watches 
that  my  struggles  came  —  though  often  some  unwitting 
speech  of  his  would  bring  back  the  pain.  He  took  delight 
in  telling  me,  for  example,  how  for  hours  at  a  time  I  had 
been  in  a  fearful  delirium. 

"  The  Lord  knows  what  foolishness  you  talked,  Davy," 
said  he.  "  It  would  have  done  me  good  to  hear  you  had 
you  been  in  your  right  mind." 

"  But  you  did  hear  me,"  I  said,  full  of  apprehensions. 

"Some  of  it,"  said  he.  "You  were  after  Wilkinson 
once,  in  a  burrow,  I  believe,  and  you  swore  dreadfully 
because  he  got  out  of  the  other  end.  I  can't  remember 
all  the  things  you  said.  Oh,  yes,  once  you  were  talking 
to  Auguste  de  St.  Gre  about  money." 

"  Money  ?  "  I  repeated  in  a  sinking  voice. 

"  Oh,  a  lot  of  jargon.  The  Vicomtesse  pushed  me  out 
of  the  room,  and  after  that  I  was  never  allowed  to  be  there 
when  you  had  those  nights.  Curse  the  mosquitoes  !  "  He 
seized  a  fan  and  began  to  ply  it  vigorously.  "  I  remem 
ber.  You  were  giving  Auguste  a  lecture.  Then  I  had 
to  go." 


A  MYSTEKY  567 

These  and  other  reminiscences  gave  me  sufficient  food 
for  reflection,  and  many  a  shudder  over  the  possibilities  of 
my  ravings.  She  had  put  him  out !  No  wonder. 

After  a  while  I  was  carried  to  the  gallery,  and  there  I 
would  talk  to  the  little  doctor  about  the  yellow  fever 
which  had  swept  the  city.  Monsieur  Perrin  was  not 
much  of  a  doctor,  to  be  sure,  and  he  had  a  heartier  dread 
of  the  American  invasion  than  of  the  scourge.  He  wor 
shipped  the  Vicomtesse,  and  was  so  devoid  of  professional 
pride  as  to  give  her  freely  all  credit  for  my  recovery.  He, 
too,  clothed  her  with  the  qualities  of  statesmanship. 

"  Ha,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  if  that  lady  had  been  King 
of  France,  do  you  think  there  would  have  been  any  States 
General,  any  red  bonnets,  any  Jacobins  or  Cordeliers  ? 
Parbleu,  she  would  have  swept  the  vicemongers  and 
traitors  out  of  the  Palais  Royal  itself.  There  would  have 
been  a  house-cleaning  there.  I,  who  speak  to  you,  know  it." 

Every  day  Nick  wrote  a  bulletin  to  be  sent  to  the 
Vicomtesse,  and  he  took  a  fiendish  delight  in  the  composi 
tion  of  these.  He  would  come  out  on  the  gallery  with  ink 
and  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  and  try  to  enlist  my  help.  He 
would  insert  the  most  ridiculous  statements,  as  for 
instance,  "  Davy  is  worse  to-day,  having  bribed  Lindy 
to  give  him  a  pint  of  Madeira  against  my  orders."  Or, 
"  Davy  feigns  to  be  sinking  rapidly  because  he  wishes  to 
have  you  back."  Indeed,  I  was  always  in  a  torture  of 
doubt  to  know  what  the  rascal  had  sent. 

His  company  was  most  agreeable  when  he  was  recount 
ing  the  many  adventures  he  had  had  during  the  five  years 
after  he  had  left  New  Orleans  and  been  lost  to  me.  These 
would  fill  a  book,  and  a  most  readable  book  it  would  be  if 
written  in  his  own  speech.  His  love  for  the  excitement 
of  the  frontier  had  finally  drawn  him  back  to  the  Cum 
berland  country  near  Nashville,  and  he  had  actually  gone 
so  far  as  to  raise  a  house  and  till  some  of  the  land  which 
he  had  won  from  Darnley.  It  was  perhaps  characteristic 
of  him  that  he  had  named  the  place  "  Rattle-and-Snap  "  in 
honor  of  the  game  which  had  put  him  in  possession  of  it, 
and  "  Rattle-and-Snap  "  it  remains  to  this  day.  He  was 


568  THE  CROSSING 

going  back  there  with  Antoinette,  so  he  said,  to  build  a 
brick  mansion  and  to  live  a  respectable  life  the  rest  of  his 
days. 

There  was  one  question  which  had  been  in  my  mind  to 
ask  him,  concerning  the  attitude  of  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre. 
That  gentleman,  with  Madame,  had  hurried  back  from 
Pointe  Coupee  at  a  ^message  from  the  Vicomtesse,  and  had 
gone  first  to  Les  lies  to  see  Antoinette.  Then  he  had 
come,  in  spite  of  the  fever,  to  his  own  house  in  New 
Orleans  to  see  Nick  himself.  What  their  talk  had  been 
I  never  knew,  for  the  subject  was  too  painful  to  be  dwelt 
upon,  and  the  conversation  had  been  marked  by  frankness 
on  both  sides.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  was  a  just  man,  his 
love  for  his  daughter  was  his  chief  passion,  and  despite  all 
that  had  happened  he  liked  Nick.  I  believe  he  could  not 
wholly  blame  the  younger  man,  and  he  forgave  him. 

Mrs.  Temple,  poor  lady,  had  died  on  that  first  night  of 
my  illness,  and  it  was  her  punishment  that  she  had  not 
known  her  son  or  her  son's  happiness.  Whatever  sins 
she  had  committed  in  her  wayward  life  were  atoned  for, 
and  by  her  death  I  firmly  believe  that  she  redeemed  him. 
She  lies  now  among  the  Temples  in  Charleston,  and  on 
the  stone  which  marks  her  grave  is  cut  no  line  that  hints 
of  the  story  of  these  pages. 

One  bright  morning,  when  Nick  and  I  were  playing 
cards,  we  heard  some  one  mounting  the  stairs,  and  to  my 
surprise  and  embarrassment  I  beheld  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre 
emerging  on  the  gallery.  He  was  in  white  linen  and 
wore  a  broad  hat,  which  he  took  from  his  head  as  he 
advanced.  He  had  aged  somewhat,  his  hair  was  a  little 
gray,  but  otherwise  he  was  the  firm,  dignified  personage  I 
had  admired  on  this  same  gallery  five  years  before. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  English  ;  "  ha, 
do  not  rise,  sir "  (to  me).  He  patted  Nick's  shoulder 
kindly,  but  not  familiarly,  as  he  passed  him,  and  extended 
his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie,  it  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  I  can 
express  to  see  you  so  much  recovered." 


A  MYSTERY  569 

"  I  am  again  thrown  on  your  hospitality,  sir,"  I  said, 
flushing  with  pleasure  at  this  friendliness.  For  I  admired 
and  respected  the  man  greatly.  "  And  I  fear  I  have  been 
a  burden  and  trouble  to  you  and  your  family." 

He  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it.  Characteristically,  he 
did  not  answer  this,  and  I  remembered  he  was  always  care 
ful  not  to  say  anything  which  might  smack  of  insincerity. 

"  I  had  a  glimpse  of  you  some  weeks  ago,"  he  said,  thus 
making  light  of  the  risk  he  had  run.  "  You  are  a  differ 
ent  man  now.  You  may  thank  your  Scotch  blood  and 
your  strong  constitution." 

"  His  good  habits  have  done  him  some  good,  after  all," 
put  in  my  irrepressible  cousin. 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  smiled. 

"Nick,"  he  said  (he  pronounced  the  name  quaintly, 
like  Antoinette),  "  his  good  habits  have  turned  out  to  be 
some  advantage  to  you.  Mr.  Ritchie,  you  have  a  faith 
ful  friend  at  least."  He  patted  Nick's  shoulder  again. 
"And  he  has  promised  me  to  settle  down." 

"  I  have  every  inducement,  sir,"  said  Nick. 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  became  grave. 

"  You  have  indeed,  M.onsieur,"  he  answered. 

"I  have  just  come  from  Dr.  Perrin's,  David,"  —  he 
added,  "  May  I  call  you  so  ?  Well,  then,  I  have  just  come 
from  Dr.  Perrin's,  and  he  says  you  may  be  moved  to  Les 
lies  this  very  afternoon.  Why,  upon  my  word,"  he  ex 
claimed,  staring  at  me,  "you  don't  look  pleased.  One 
would  think  you  were  going  to  the  calabozo." 

"Ah,"  said  Nick,  slyly,  "I  know.  He  has  tasted  free 
dom,  Monsieur,  and  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  will  be  in 
command  again." 

I  flushed.     Nick  could  be  very  exasperating. 

"  You  must  not  mind  him,  Monsieur,"  I  said.' 

"I  do  not  mind  him,"  answered  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre, 
laughing  in  spite  of  himself.  "He  is  a  sad  rogue.  As 
for  Helene  —  " 

"I  shall  not  know  how  to  thank  the  Vicomtesse,"  I 
said.  "  She  has  done  me  the  greatest  service  one  person 
can  do  another." 


570  THE  CROSSING 

"  Helene  is  a  good  woman,"  answered  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre,  simply.  "  She  is  more  than  that,  she  is  a  wonderful 
woman.  I  remember  telling  you  of  her  once.  I  little 
thought  then  that  she  would  ever  come  to  us." 

He  turned  to  me.  "  Dr.  Perrin  will  be  here  this  after 
noon,  David,  and  he  will  have  you  dressed.  Between  five 
and  six  if  all  goes  well,  we  shall  start  for  Les  lies.  And 
in  the  meantime,  gentlemen,"  he  added  with  a  stateliness 
that  was  natural  to  him,  "  I  have  business  which  takes  me 
to-day  to  my  brother-in-law's,  Monsieur  de  Beausejour's." 

Nick  leaned  over  the  gallery  and  watched  meditatively 
his  prospective  father-in-law  leaving  the  court-yard. 

"  He  got  me  out  of  a  devilish  bad  scrape,"  he  said. 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  I  asked  listlessly. 

"  That  fat  little  Baron,  the  Governor,  was  for  deporting 
me  for  running  past  the  sentry  and  giving  him  all  the 
trouble  I  did.  It  seems  that  the  Vicomtesse  promised  to 
explain  matters  in  a  note  which  she  wrote,  and  never  did 
explain.  She  was  here  with  you,  and  a  lot  she  cared  about 
anything  else.  Lucky  that  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  came  back. 
Now  his  Excellency  graciously  allows  me  to  stay  here,  if  I 
behave  myself,  until  I  get  married." 

I  do  not  know  how  I  spent  the  rest  of  the  day.  It 
passed,  somehow.  If  I  had  had  the  strength  then,  I  be 
lieve  I  should  have  fled.  I  was  to  see  her  again,  to  feel 
her  near  me,  to  hear  her  voice.  During  the  weeks  that 
had  gone  by  I  had  schooled  myself,  in  a  sense,  to  the  in 
evitable.  I  had  not  let  my  mind  dwell  upon  my  visit  to 
Les  lies,  and  now  I  was  face  to  face  with  the  struggle  for 
which  I  felt  I  had  not  the  strength.  I  had  fought  one 
battle,  —  I  knew  that  a  fiercer  battle  was  to  come. 

In  due  time  the  doctor  arrived,  and  while  he  prepared 
me  for  my  departure,  the  little  man  sought,  with  misplaced 
kindness,  to  raise  my  spirits.  Was  not  Monsieur  going  to 
the  country,  to  a  paradise  ?  Monsieur  —  so  Dr.  Perrin 
had  noticed  —  had  a  turn  for  philosophy.  Could  two 
more  able  and  brilliant  conversationalists  be  found  than 
Philippe  de  St.  Gre  and  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  ?  And 
there  was  the  happiness  of  that  strange  but  lovable  young 


A  MYSTEKY  671 

man,  Monsieur  Temple,  to  contemplate.  He  was  in  luck, 
ce  beau  garpon,  for  he  was  getting  an  angel  for  his  wife. 
Did  Monsieur  know  that  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  was  an 
angel  ? 

At  last  I  was  ready,  arrayed  in  my  best,  on  the  gallery, 
when  Monsieur  de  St.  Ore*  came.  Andre  and  another 
servant  carried  me  down  into  the  court,  and  there  stood  a 
painted  sedan-chair  with  the  St.  Gre  arms  on  the  panels. 

"  My  father  imported  it,  David,"  said  Monsieur  de  St. 
Gre.  "  It  has  not  been  used  for  many  years.  You  are 
to  be  carried  in  it  to  the  levee,  and  there  I  have  a  boat 
for  you." 

Overwhelmed  by  this  kindness,  I  could  not  find  words 
to  thank  him  as  I  got  into  the  chair.  My  legs  were  too 
long  for  it,  I  remember.  I  had  a  quaint  feeling  of  unreal 
ity  as  I  sank  back  on  the  red  satin  cushions  and  was  borne 
out  of  the  gate  between  the  lions.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  and 
Nick  walked  in  front,  the  faithful  Lindy  followed,  and  people 
paused  to  stare  at  us  as  we  passed.  We  crossed  the  Place 
d'Armes,  the  Royal  Road,  gained  the  willow-bordered 
promenade  on  the  levee's  crown,  and  a  wide  barge  was 
waiting,  manned  by  six  negro  oarsmen.  They  lifted 
me  into  its  stern  under  the  awning,  the  barge  was  cast 
off,  the  oars  dipped,  and  we  were  gliding  silently  past  the 
line  of  keel  boats  on  the  swift  current  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  spars  of  the  shipping  were  inky  black,  and  the  setting 
sun  had  struck  a  red  band  across  the  waters.  For  a  while 
the  three  of  us  sat  gazing  at  the  green  shore,  each  wrapped 
in  his  own  reflections,  —  Philippe  de  St.  Gre  thinking,  per 
chance,  of  the  wayward  son  he  had  lost ;  Nick  of  the 
woman  who  awaited  him  ;  and  I  of  one  whom  fate  had 
set  beyond  me.  It  was  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  who  broke 
the  silence  at  last. 

"You  feel  no  ill  effects  from  your  moving,  David?" 
he  asked,  with  an  anxious  glance  at  me. 

"None,  sir,"  I  said. 

"  The  country  air  will  do  you  good,"  he  said  kindly. 

"  And  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  will  put  him  on  a  diet," 
added  Nick,  rousing  himself. 


572  THE  CROSSING 

"  Helene  will  take  care  of  him,"  answered  Monsieur 
de  St.  Gre. 

He  fell  to  musing  again.  "  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  has 
seen  more  in  seven  years  than  most  of  us  see  in  a  life 
time,"  he  said.  "  She  has  beheld  the  glory  of  France, 
and  the  dishonor  and  pollution  of  her  country.  Had  the 
old  order  lasted  her  salon  would  have  been  famous,  and 
she  would  have  been  a  power  in  politics." 

"  I  have  thought  that  the  Vicomtesse  must  have  had  a 
queer  marriage,"  Nick  remarked. 

Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  smiled. 

"  Such  marriages  were  the  rule  amongst  our  nobility," 
he  said.  "  It  was  arranged  while  Helene  was  still  in  the 
convent,  though  it  was  not  celebrated  until  three  years 
after  she  had  been  in  the  world.  There  was  a  romantic 
affair,  I  believe,  with  a  young  gentleman  of  the  English 
embassy,  though  I  do  not  know  the  details.  He  is  said 
to  be  the  only  man  she  ever  cared  for.  He  was  a  younger 
son  of  an  impoverished  earl." 

I  started,  remembering  what  the  Vicomtesse  had  said. 
But  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  did  not  appear  to  see  my 
perturbation. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  if  Helene  suffered,  she  never  gave  a 
sign  of  it.  The  marriage  was  celebrated  with  great  pomp, 
and  the  world  could  only  conjecture  what  she  thought  of 
the  Vicomte.  It  was  deemed  on  both  sides  a  brilliant 
match.  He  had  inherited  vast  estates,  Ivry-le-Iour, 
Montm£ry,  Les  Saillantes,  I  know  not  what  else.  She 
was  heiress  to  the  Chateau  de  St.  Gre  with  its  wide 
lands,  to  the  chateau  and  lands  of  the  Cdte  Rouge  in  Nor 
mandy,  to  the  hotel  St.  Gre  in  Paris.  Monsieur  le  Vi 
comte  was  between  forty  and  fifty  at  his  marriage,  and 
from  what  I  have  heard  of  him  he  had  many  of  the 
virtues  and  many  of  the  faults  of  his  order.  He  was  a 
bachelor,  which  does  not  mean  that  he  had  lacked  conso 
lations.  He  was  reserved  with  his  equals,  and  distant 
with  others.  He  had  served  in  the  Guards,  and  did  not 
lack  courage.  He  dressed  exquisitely,  was  inclined  to  the 
Polignac  party,  took  his  ease  everywhere,  had  a  knowledge 


A  MYSTEKY  573 

of  cards  and  courts,  and  little  else.  He  was  cheated  by 
his  stewards,  refused  to  believe  that  the  Revolution  was 
serious,  and  would  undoubtedly  have  been  guillotined  had 
the  Vicomtesse  not  contrived  to  get  him  out  of  France  in 
spite  of  himself.  They  went  first  to  the  Duke  de  Ligne, 
at  Bel  Oeil,  and  thence  to  Coblentz.  He  accepted  a  com 
mission  in  the  Austrian  service,  which  is  much  to  his 
credit,  and  Helene  went  with  some  friends  to  England. 
There  my  letter  reached  her,  and  rather  than  be  beholden 
to  strangers  or  accept  my  money  there,  she  came  to  us. 
That  is  her  story  in  brief,  Messieurs.  As  for  Monsieur 
le  Vicomte,  he  admired  his  wife,  as  well  he  might,  re 
spected  her  for  the  way  she  served  the  gallants,  but  he 
made  no  pretence  of  loving  her.  One  affair  —  a  girl  in 
the  village  of  Montmery  —  had  lasted.  Helene  was  des 
tined  for  higher  things  than  may  be  found  in  Louisiana," 
said  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre,  turning  to  Nick,  "  but  now  that 
you  are  to  carry  away  my  treasure,  Monsieur,  I  do  not 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  her." 

"  And  has  there  been  any  news  of  the  Vicomte  of  late  ?  " 

It  was  Nick  who  asked  the  question,  after  a  little. 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Eh,  mon  Dieu,  have  you  not  heard  ?  "  he  said.  "  C'est 
vrai,  you  have  been  with  David.  Did  not  the  Vicomtesse 
mention  it  ?  But  why  should  she  ?  Monsieur  le  Vicomte 
died  in  Vienna.  He  had  lived  too  well." 

"The  Vicomte  is  dead?"  I  said. 

They  both  looked  at  me.  Indeed,  I  should  not  have 
recognized  my  own  voice.  What  my  face  betrayed,  what 
my  feelings  were,  I  cannot  say.  My  heart  beat  no  faster, 
there  was  no  tumult  in  my  brain,  and  yet  —  my  breath 
caught  strangely.  Something  grew  within  me  which  is 
beyond  the  measure  of  speech,  and  so  it  was  meant  to  be. 

"  1^  did  not  know  this  myself  until  Helene  returned  to 
Les  lies,"  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  was  saying  to  me.  "  The 
letter  came  to  her  the  day  after  you  were  taken  ill.  It 
was  from  the  Baron  von  Seckenbriick,  at  whose  house  the 
Vicomte  died.  She  took  it  very  calmly,  for  Helene  is  not 
a  woman  to  pretend.  How  much  better,  after  all,  if  she 


574  THE  CROSSING 

had  married  her  Englishman  for  love  !  And  she  is  much 
troubled  now  because,  as  she  declares,  she  is  dependent 
upon  my  bounty.  That  is  my  happiness,  my  consolation," 
the  good  man  added  simply,  "  and  her  father,  the  Marquis, 
was  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  young  provincial  and  a 
stranger.  God  rest  his  soul  !  " 

We  were  drawing  near  to  Les  lies.  The  rains  had 
come  during  my  illness,  and  in  the  level  evening  light  the 
forest  of  the  shore  was  the  tender  green  of  spring.  At 
length  we  saw  the  white  wooden  steps  in  the  levee  at  the 
landing,  and  near  them  were  three  figures,  waiting.  We 
glided  nearer.  One  was  Madame  de  St.  Gre,  another  was 
Antoinette,  —  these  I  saw  indeed.  The  other  was  Helene, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  her  eyes  met  mine  across  the 
waters  and  drew  them.  Then  we  were  at  the  landing. 
I  heard  Madame  de  St.  Gre's  voice,  and  Antoinette's  in 
welcome  —  I  listened  for  another.  I  saw  Nick  running 
up  the  steps;  in  the  impetuosity  of  his  love  he  had  seized 
Antoinette's  hand  in  his,  and  she  was  the  color  of  a  red 
rose.  Creole  decorum  forbade  further  advances.  Andre 
and  another  lifted  me  out,  and  they  gathered  around  me, 
—  these  kind  people  and  devoted  friends,  —  Antoinette 
calling  me,  with  exquisite  shyness,  by  name  ;  Madame  de 
St.  Gre  giving  me  a  grave  but  gentle  welcome,  and  asking 
anxiously  how  I  stood  the  journey.  Another  took  my 
hand,  held  it  for  the  briefest  space  that  has  been  marked 
out  of  time,  and  for  that  instant  I  looked  into  her  eyes. 
Life  flowed  back  into  me,  and  strength,  and  a  joy  not  to 
be  fathomed.  I  could  have  walked;  but  they  bore  me 
through  the  well-remembered  vista,  and  the  white  gallery 
at  the  end  of  it  was  like  the  sight  of  home.  The  evening 
air  was  laden  with  the  scent  of  the  sweetest  of  all  shrubs 
and  flowers. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  TO   IHSTPATHED  WATERS,   T7NDKEAMED   SHOEES  " 

MONSIEUR  and  Madame  de  St.  Gre  themselves  came 
with  me  to  my  chamber  off  the  gallery,  where  everything 
was  prepared  for  my  arrival  with  the  most  loving  care,  — 
Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  supplying  many  things  from  his 
wardrobe  which  I  lacked.  And  when  I  tried  to  thank 
them  for  their  kindness  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"  Tenez,  mon  ami"  he  said,  " you  got  your  illness  by 
doing  things  for  other  people.  It  is  time  other  people 
did  something  for  you." 

Lindy  brought  me  the  daintiest  of  suppers,  and  I  was 
left  to  my  meditations.  Nick  looked  in  at  the  door,  and 
hinted  darkly  that  I  had  to  thank  a  certain  tyrant  for  my 
abandonment.  I  called  to  him,  but  he  paid  no  heed,  and 
I  heard  him  chuckling  as  he  retreated  along  the  gallery. 
The  journey,  the  excitement  into  which  I  had  been  plunged 
by  the  news  I  had  heard,  brought  on  a  languor,  and  I  was 
between  sleeping  and  waking  half  the  night.  I  slept  to 
dream  of  her,  of  the  Vicomte,  her  husband,  walking  in  his 
park  or  playing  cards  amidst  a  brilliant  company  in  a 
great  candle-lit  room  like  the  drawing-room  at  Temple 
Bow.  Doubt  grew,  and  sleep  left  me.  She  was  free  now, 
indeed,  but  was  she  any  nearer  to  me?  Hope  grew 
again,  —  why  had  she  left  me  in  New  Orleans?  She  had 
received  a  letter,  and  if  she  had  cared  she  would  not  have 
remained.  But  there  was  a  detestable  argument  to  fit  that 
likewise,  and  in  the  light  of  this  argument  it  was  most 
natural  that  she  should  return  to  Les  lies.  And  who  was 
I,  David  Ritchie,  a  lawyer  of  the  little  town  of  Louisville, 

575 


076  THE  CROSSING 

to  aspire  to  the  love  of  such  a  creature?  Was  it  likely 
that  Helene,  Vicomtesse  d'lvry-le-Tour,  would  think  twice 
of  me  ?  The  powers  of  the  world  were  making  ready  to 
crush  the  presumptuous  France  of  the  Jacobins,  and  the 
France  of  King  and  Aristocracy  would  be  restored.  Cha 
teaux  and  lands  would  be  hers  again,  and  she  would  go 
back  again  to  that  brilliant  life  among  the  great  to  which 
she  was  born,  for  which  nature  had  fitted  her.  Last  of  all 
was  the  thought  of  the  Englishman  whom  I  resembled. 
She  would  go  back  to  him. 

Nick  was  the  first  in  my  room  the  next  morning.  He 
had  risen  early  (so  he  ingenuously  informed  me)  because 
Antoinette  had  a  habit  of  getting  up  with  the  birds,  and 
as  I  drank  my  coifee  he  was  emphatic  in  his  denunciations 
of  the  customs  of  the  country. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  day,  Davy,"  he  cried ;  "  you  must 
hurry  and  get  out.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  sends  his  compli 
ments,  and  wishes  to  know  if  you  will  pardon  his  absence 
this  morning.  He  is  going  to  escort  Antoinette  and  me 
over  to  see  some  of  my  prospective  cousins,  the  Bertrands." 
He  made  a  face,  and  bent  nearer  to  my  ear.  "  I  swear 
to  you  I  have  not  had  one  moment  alone  with  her.  We 
have  been  for  a  walk,  but  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  must 
needs  intrude  herself  upon  us.  Egad,  I  told  her  plainly 
what  I  thought  of  her  tyranny." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  "  I  asked,  trying  to  smile. 

"She  laughed,  and  said  that  I  belonged  to  a  young 
nation  which  had  done  much  harm  in  the  world  to  every 
body  but  themselves.  Faith,  if  I  wasn't  in  love  with 
Antoinette,  I  believe  I'd  be  in  love  with  her." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  I  answered. 

"The  Vicomtesse  is  as  handsome  as  a  queen  this 
morning,"  he  continued,  paying  no  heed  to  this  re 
mark.  "  She  has  on  a  linen  dress  that  puzzles  me.  It 
was  made  to  walk  among  the  trees  and  flowers,  it  is  as 
simple  as  you  please ;  and  yet  it  has  a  distinction  that 
makes  you  stare." 

"  You  seem  to  have  stared,"  I  answered.  "  Since  when 
did  you  take  such  interest  in  gowns  ?  " 


"UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDREAMED  SHORES"    577 

"Bless  you,  it  was  Antoinette.  I  never  should  have 
known,"  said  he.  "  Antoinette  had  never  before  seen  the 
gown,  and  she  asked  the  Vicomtesse  where  she  got  the 
pattern.  The  Vicomtesse  said  that  the  gown  had  been 
made  by  Leonard,  a  court  dressmaker,  and  it  was  of  the 
fashion  the  Queen  had  set  to  wear  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Trianon  when  simplicity  became  the  craze.  Antoinette  is 
to  have  it  copied,  so  she  says." 

Which  proved  that  Antoinette  was  human,  after  all, 
and  happy  once  more. 

"  Hang  it,"  said  Nick,  "  she  paid  more  attention  to  that 
gown  than  to  me.  Good-by,  Davy.  Obey  the  —  the 
Colonel." 

"  Is  —  is  not  the  Vicomtesse  going  with  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  I'm  sorry  for  you,"  he  called  back  from  the  gallery. 

He  had  need  to  be,  for  I  fell  into  as  great  a  fright  as 
ever  I  had  had  in  my  life.  Monsieur  de  St.  Gre  knocked 
at  the  door  and  startled  me  out  of  my  wits.  Hearing  that 
I  was  awake,  he  had  come  in  person  to  make  his  excuses 
for  leaving  me  that  morning. 

"Bon  2)ieu.f"  he  said,  looking  at  me,  "the  country  has 
done  you  good  already.  Behold  a  marvel  I  Au  revoir, 
David." 

I  heard  the  horses  being  brought  around,  and  laughter 
and  voices.  How  easily  I  distinguished  hers  !  Then  I 
heard  the  hoof-beats  on  the  soft  dirt  of  the  drive.  Then 
silence,  —  the  silence  of  a  summer  morning  which  is  all 
myriad  sweet  sounds.  Then  Lindy  appeared,  starched 
and  turbaned. 

"  Marse  Dave,  how  you  feel  dis  mawnin'  ?  Yo'  'pears 
mighty  peart,  sholy.  Marse  Dave,  yo'  chair  is  sot  on  de 
gallery.  Is  you  ready?  I'll  fetch  dat  yaller  nigger, 
Andre." 

"  You  needn't  fetch  Andre,"  I  said  ;  "  I  can  walk." 

"  Lan'  sakes,  Marse  Dave,  but  you  is  bumptious." 

I  rose  and  walked  out  on  the  gallery  with  surprising 

steadiness.    A  great  cushioned  chair  had  been  placed  there, 

and  beside  it  a  table  with  books,  and  another  chair.     I  sat 

down.     Lindy  looked  at  me  sharply,  but  I  did  not  heed 

2p 


678  THE  CROSSING 

her,  and  presently  she  retired.  The  day,  still  in  its  early 
golden  glory,  seemed  big  with  prescience.  Above,  the 
saffron  haze  was  lifted,  and  there  was  the  blue  sky.  The 
breeze  held  its  breath  ;  the  fragrance  of  grass  and  fruit 
and  flowers,  of  the  shrub  that  vied  with  all,  languished 
on  the  air.  Out  of  these  things  she  came. 

I  knew  that  she  was  coming,  but  I  saw  her  first  at  the 
gallery's  end,  the  roses  she  held  red  against  the  white 
linen  of  her  gown.  Then  I  felt  a  great  yearning  and  a 
great  dread.  I  have  seen  many  of  her  kind  since,  and 
none  reflected  so  truly  as  she  the  life  of  the  old  regime. 
Her  dress,  her  carriage,  her  air,  all  suggested  it ;  and  she 
might,  as  Nick  said,  have  been  walking  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Trianon.  Titles  I  cared  nothing  for.  Hers  alone 
seemed  real,  to  put  her  far  above  me.  Had  all  who  bore 
them  been  as  worthy,  titles  would  have  meant  much  to 
mankind. 

She  was  coming  swiftly.  I  rose  to  my  feet  before  her. 
I  believe  I  should  have  risen  in  death.  And  then  she  was 
standing  beside  me,  looking  up  into  my  face. 

"You  must  not  do  that,"  she  said,  "or  I  will  go 
away." 

I  sat  down  again.  She  went  to  the  door  and  called,  I 
following  her  with  my  eyes.  Lindy  came  with  a  bowl  of 
water. 

"  Put  it  on  the  table,"  said  the  Vicomtesse. 

Lindy  put  the  bowl  on  the  table,  gave  us  a  glance,  and 
departed  silently.  The  Vicomtesse  began  to  arrange  the 
flowers  in  the  bowl,  and  I  watched  her,  fascinated  by  her 
movements.  She  did  everything  quickly,  deftly,  but  this 
matter  took  an  unconscionable  time.  She  did  not  so 
much  as  glance  at  me.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  my 
presence. 

"There,"  she  said  at  last,  giving  them  a  final  touch. 
"  You  are  less  talkative,  if  anything,  than  usual  this  morn 
ing,  Mr.  Ritchie.  You  have  not  said  good  morning,  you 
have  not  told  me  how  you  were  —  you  have  not  even 
thanked  me  for  the  roses.  One  might  almost  believe  that 
you  are  sorry  to  come  to  Les  lies." 


"UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDEEAMED  SHOEES"   579 

"  One  might  believe  anything  who  didn't  know,  Madame 
la  Vicomtesse." 

She  put  her  hand  to  the  flowers  again. 

"It  seems  a  pity  to  pick  them,  even  in  a  good  cause," 
she  said. 

She  was  so  near  me  that  I  could  have  touched  her.  A 
weakness  seized  me,  and  speech  was  farther  away  than 
ever.  She  moved,  she  sat  down  and  looked  at  me,  and 
the  kind  of  mocking  smile  came  into  her  eyes  that  I  knew 
was  the  forerunner  of  raillery. 

"There  is  a  statue  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles  which 
seems  always  about  to  speak,  and  then  to  think  better  of 
it.  You  remind  me  of  that  statue,  Mr.  Ritchie.  It  is  the 
statue  of  Wisdom." 

What  did  she  mean  ? 

"Wisdom  knows  the  limitations  of  its  own  worth, 
Madame,"  I  replied. 

"  It  is  the  one  particular  in  which  I  should  have  thought 
wisdom  was  lacking,"  she  said.  "  You  have  a  tongue,  if 
you  will  deign  to  use  it.  Or  shall  I  read  to  you  ?  "  she 
added  quickly,  picking  up  a  book.  "  I  have  read  to  the 
Queen,  when  Madame  Campan  was  tired.  Her  Majesty, 
poor  dear  lady,  did  me  the  honor  to  say  she  liked  my 
English." 

"  You  have  done  everything,  Madame,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  read  to  a  Queen,  to  a  King's  sister,  but  never  yet 
—  to  a  King,"  she  said,  opening  the  book  and  giving  me 
the  briefest  of  glances.  "You  are  all  kings  in  America, 
are  you  not  ?  What  shall  I  read  ?  " 

"I  would  rather  have  you  talk  to  me." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  tell  you  how  the  Queen  spoke  Eng 
lish.  No,  I  will  not  do  that,"  she  said,  a  swift  expression 
of  sadness  passing  over  her  face.  "  I  will  never  mock  her 
again.  She  was  a  good  sovereign  and  a  brave  woman, 
and  I  loved  her."  She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  I  thought 
there  was  a  great  weariness  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke 
again.  "  I  have  every  reason  to  thank  God  when  I  think 
of  the  terrors  I  escaped,  of  the  friends  I  have  found.  And 
yet  I  am  an  unhappy  woman,  Mr.  Ritchie." 


580  THE  CROSSING 

"  You  are  unhappy  when  you  are  not  doing  things  for 
others,  Madame,"  I  suggested. 

"  I  am  a  discontented  woman,"  she  said ;  "  I  always 
have  been.  And  I  am  unhappy  when  I  think  of  all  those 
who  were  dear  to  me  and  whom  I  loved.  Many  are  dead, 
and  many  are  scattered  and  homeless." 

"I  have  often  thought  of  your  sorrows,  Madame,"  I 
said. 

"  Which  reminds  me  that  I  should  not  burden  you  with 
them,  my  good  friend,  when  you  are  recovering.  Do  you 
know  that  you  have  been  very  near  to  death  ?  " 

"  I  know,  Madame,"  I  faltered.  "  I  know  that  had  it  not 
been  for  you  I  should  not  be  alive  to-day.  I  know  that 
you  risked  your  life  to  save  my  own." 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  when  I  looked  at  her 
she  was  gazing  out  over  the  flowers  on  the  lawn. 

"  My  life  did  not  matter,"  she  said.  "  Let  us  not  talk 
of  that." 

I  might  have  answered,  but  I  dared  not  speak  for  fear 
of  saying  what  was  in  my  heart.  And  while  I  trembled 
with  the  repression  of  it,  she  was  changed.  She  turned 
her  face  towards  me  and  smiled  a  little. 

"  If  you  had  obeyed  me  you  would  not  have  been  so 
ill,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  am  glad  that  I  did  not  obey  you." 

"Your  cousin,  the  irrepressible  Mr.  Temple,  says  I  am 
a  tyrant.  Come  now,  do  you  think  me  a  tyrant  ?  " 

"He  has  also  said  other  things  of  you." 

"  What  other  things  ?  " 

I  blushed  at  my  own  boldness. 

"  He  said  that  if  he  were  not  in  love  with  Antoinette, 
he  would  be  in  love  with  you." 

"  A  very  safe  compliment,"  said  the  Vicomtesse.  "  In 
deed,  it  sounds  too  cautious  for  Mr.  Temple.  You  must 
have  tampered  with  it,  Mr.  Ritchie,"  she  flashed.  "  Mr. 
Temple  is  a  boy.  He  needs  discipline.  '  He  will  have  too 
easy  a  time  with  Antoinette." 

"  He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  you  should  marry,"  I  said, 
and  sat  amazed  at  it. 


She  looked  at  me  strangely. 

"No,  he  is  not,"  she  answered.  "He  is  more  or  less 
the  sort  of  man  I  have  been  thrown  with  all  my  life. 
They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin.  I  know  you  will  not 
misunderstand  me,  for  I  am  very  fond  of  him.  Mr.  Tem 
ple  is  honest,  fearless,  lovable,  and  of  good  instincts.  One 
cannot  say  as  much  for  the  rest  of  his  type.  They  go 
through  life  fighting,  gaming,  horse-racing,  riding  to 
hounds,  —  I  have  often  thought  that  it  was  no  wonder 
our  privileges  came  to  an  end.  So  many  of  us  were  steeped 
in  selfishness  and  vice,  were  a  burden  on  the  world.  The 
early  nobles,  with  all  their  crimes,  were  men  who  carved 
their  way.  Of  such  were  the  lords  of  the  Marches.  We 
toyed  with  politics,  with  simplicity,  we  wasted  the  land, 
we  played  cards  as  our  coaches  passed  through  famine- 
stricken  villages.  The  reckoning  came.  Our  punishment 
was  not  given  into  the  hands  of  the  bourgeois,  who  would 
have  dealt  justly,  but  to  the  scum,  the  canaille,  the  demons 
of  the  earth.  Had  our  King,  had  our  nobility,  been  men 
with  the  old  fire,  they  would  not  have  stood  it.  They 
were  worn  out  with  centuries  of  catering  to  themselves. 
Give  me  a  man  who  will  shape  his  life  and  live  it  with  all 
his  strength.  I  am  tired  of  sham  and  pretence,  of  cynical 
wit,  of  mocking  at  the  real  things  of  life,  of  pride,  vain 
glory,  and  hypocrisy.  Give  me  a  man  whose  existence 
means  something." 

Was  she  thinking  of  the  Englishman  of  whom  she  had 
spoken  ?  Delicacy  forbade  my  asking  the  question.  He 
had  been  a  man,  according  to  her  own  testimony.  Where 
was  he  now?  Her  voice  had  a  ring  of  earnestness  in  it 
I  had  never  heard  before,  and  this  arraignment  of  her  own 
life  and  of  her  old  friends  surprised  me.  Now  she  seemed 
lost  in  a  revery,  from  which  I  forebore  to  arouse  her. 

"  I  have  often  tried  to  picture  your  life,"  I  said  at  last. 

"  You  ? "  she  answered,  turning  her  head  quickly. 
"Often?" 

"  Ever  since  I  first  saw  the  miniature,"  I  said.  "  Mon 
sieur  de  St.  Gre  told  me  some  things,  and  afterwards  I 
read  '  Le  Mariage  de  Figaro,'  and  some  novels,  and  some 


582  THE  CEOSSING 


memoirs  of  the  old  courts  which  I  got  in  Philadelphia  last 
winter.  .1  used  to  think  of  you  as  I  rode  over  the  moun 
tains,  as  I  sat  reading  in  my  room  of  an  evening. 
I  used  to  picture  you  in  the  palaces  amusing  the  Queen 
and  making  the  Cardinals  laugh.  And  then  I  used  to 
wonder  —  what  became  of  you  —  and  whether  —  "  I  hesi 
tated,  overwhelmed  by  a  sudden  confusion,  for  she  was 
gazing  at  me  fixedly  with  a  look  I  did  not  understand. 

"  You  used  to  think  of  that  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  never  thought  to  see  you,"  I  answered. 

Laughter  came  into  her  eyes,  and  I  knew  that  I  had 
not  vexed  her.  But  I  had  spoken  stupidly,  and  I  reddened. 

"  I  had  a  quick  tongue,"  she  said,  as  though  to  cover 
my  confusion.  "  I  have  it  yet.  In  those  days  misfortune 
had  not  curbed  it.  I  had  not  learned  to  be  charitable. 
When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  ride  with  my  father  to  the 
hunts  at  St.  Gi'6,  and  I  was  too  ready  to  pick  out  the  weak 
nesses  of  his  guests.  If  one  of  the  company  had  a  trick 
or  a  mannerism,  I  never  failed  to  catch  it.  People  used 
to  ask  me  what  I  thought  of  such  and  such  a  person,  and 
that  was  bad  for  me.  I  saw  their  failings  and  pretensions, 
but  I  ignored  my  own.  It  was  the  same  at  Abbaye  aux 
Eois,  the  convent  where  I  was  taught.  When  I  was  pre 
sented  to  her  Majesty  I  saw  why  people  hated  her.  They 
did  not  understand  her.  She  was  a  woman  with  a  large 
heart,  with  charity.  Some  did  not  suspect  this,  others 
forgot  it  because  they  beheld  a  brilliant  personage  with 
keen  perceptions  who  would  not  submit  to  being  bored. 
Her  Majesty  made  many  enemies  at  court  of  persons  who 
believed  she  was  making  fun  of  them.  There  was  a  dress 
maker  at  the  French  court  called  Mademoiselle  Bertin, 
who  became  ridiculously  pretentious  because  the  Queen 
allowed  the  woman  to  dress  her  hair  in  private.  Bertin 
used  to  put  on  airs  with  the  nobility  when  they  came  to 
order  gowns,  and  she  was  very  rude  to  me  when  I  went 
for  my  court  dress.  There  was  a  ball  at  Versailles  the 
day  I  was  presented,  and  my  father  told  me  that  her 
Majesty  wished  to  speak  with  me.  I  was  very  much 
frightened.  The  Queen  was  standing  with  her  back  to 


"UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDREAMED  SHORES"    583 

the  mirror,  the  Duchesse  de  Polignac  and  some  other 
ladies  beside  her,  when  my  father  brought  me  up,  and  her 
Majesty  was  smiling. 

" '  What  did  you  say  to  Bertin,  Mademoiselle  ? '  she 
asked. 

"  I  was  more  frightened  than  ever,  but  the  remembrance 
of  the  woman's  impudence  got  the  better  of  me. 

" '  I  told  her  that  in  dressing  your  Majesty's  hair  she 
had  acquired  all  the  court  accomplishments  but  one.' 

"  '  I'll  warrant  that  Bertin  was  curious,'  said  the  Queen. 

"  '  She  was,  your  Majesty.' 

"'What  is  the  accomplishment  she  lacks?'  the  Queen 
demanded ;  '  I  should  like  to  know  it  myself.' 

"  '  It  is  discrimination,  your  Majesty.  I  told  the  woman 
there  were  some  people  she  could  be  rude  to  with  impunity. 
I  was  not  one  of  them.' 

" '  She'll  never  be  rude  to  you  again,  Mademoiselle,' 
said  the  Queen. 

" '  I  am  sure  of  it,  your  Majesty,'  I  said. 

"The  Queen  laughed,  and  bade  the  Duchesse  de  Po 
lignac  invite  me  to  supper  that  evening.  My  father  was 
delighted,  —  I  was  more  frightened  than  ever.  But  the 
party  was  small,  her  Majesty  was  very  gracious  and  spoke 
to  me  often,  and  I  saw  that  above  all  things  she  liked  to 
be  amused.  Poor  lady  !  It  was  a  year  after  that  terri 
ble  affair  of  the  necklace,  and  she  wished  to  be  distracted 
from  thinking  of  the  calumnies  which  were  being  heaped 
upon  her.  She  used  to  send  for  me  often  during  the 
years  that  followed,  and  I  might  have  had  a  place  at  court 
near  her  person.  But  my  father  was  sensible  enough  to 
advise  me  not  to  accept,  —  if  I  could  refuse  without  of 
fending  her  Majesty.  The  Queen  was  not  offended  ;  she 
was  good  enough  to  say  that  I  was  wise  in  my  request. 
She  had,  indeed,  abolished  most  of  the  ridiculous  etiquette 
of  the  court.  She  would  not  eat  in  public,  she  would  not 
be  followed  around  the  palace  by  ladies  in  court  gowns, 
she  would  not  have  her  ladies  in  the  room  when  she  was 
dressing.  If  she  wished  a  mirror,  she  would  not  wait  for 
it  to  be  passed  through  half  a  dozen  hands  and  handed 


584  THE   CROSSING 

her  by  a  Princess  of  the  Blood.  Sometimes  she  used  to 
summon  me  to  amuse  her  and  walk  with  me  by  the  water 
in  the  beautiful  gardens  of  the  Petit  Trianon.  I  used  to 
imitate  the  people  she  disliked.  I  disliked  them,  too.  I 
have  seen  her  laugh  until  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes 
when  I  talked  of  Monsieur  Necker.  As  the  dark  days 
drew  nearer  I  loved  more  and  more  to  be  in  the  seclusion 
of  the  country  at  Montmery,  at  the  St.  Gre  of  my  girlhood. 
I  can  see  St.  Gre  now,"  said  the  Vicomtesse,  "  the  thatched 
houses  of  the  little  village  on  either  side  of  the  high-road, 
the  honest,  red-faced  peasants  courtesying  in  their  door 
ways  at  our  berline,  the  brick  wall  of  the  park,  the  iron 
gates  beside  the  lodge,  the  long  avenue  of  poplars,  the 
deer  feeding  in  the  beechwood,  the  bridge  over  the  shin 
ing  stream  and  the  long,  weather-beaten  chateau  beyond 
it.  Paris  and  the  muttering  of  the  storm  were  far  away. 
The  mornings  on  the  sunny  terrace  looking  across  the 
valley  to  the  blue  hills,  the  walks  in  the  village,  grew  very 
dear  to  me.  We  do  not  know  the  value  of  things,  Mr. 
Ritchie,  until  we  are  about  to  lose  them." 

"  You  did  not  go  back  to  court  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  sighed. 

"Yes,  I  went  back.  I  thought  it  my  duty.  I  was 
at  Versailles  that  terrible  summer  when  the  States  Gen 
eral  met,  when  the  National  Assembly  grew  out  of  it, 
when  the  Bastille  was  stormed,  when  the  King  was  throw 
ing  away  his  prerogatives  like  confetti.  Never  did  the 
gardens  of  the  Trianon  seem  more  beautiful,  or  more  sad. 
Sometimes  the  Queen  would  laugh  even  then  when  I  mim 
icked  Bailly,  Des  Moulins,  Mirabeau.  I  was  with  her 
Majesty  in  the  gardens  on  that  dark,  rainy  day  when  the 
fishwomen  came  to  Versailles.  The  memory  of  that  night 
will  haunt  me  as  long  as  I  live.  The  wind  howled,  the 
rain  lashed  with  fury  against  the  windows,  the  mob  tore 
through  the  streets  of  the  town,  sacked  the  wine-shops, 
built  great  fires  at  the  corners.  Before  the  day  dawned 
again  the  furies  had  broken  into  the  palace  and  murdered 
what  was  left  of  the  Guard.  You  have  heard  how  they 
carried  off  the  King  and  Queen  to  Paris  —  how  they  bore 


"UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDREAMED   SHORES"   585 

the  heads  of  the  soldiers  on  their  pikes.  I  saw  it  from 
a  window,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

Her  voice  faltered,  and  there  were  tears  on  her  lashes. 
Some  quality  in  her  narration  brought  before  me  so  vividly 
the  scenes  of  which  she  spoke  that*  I  started  when  she  had 
finished.  There  was  much  more  I  would  have  known,  but 
I  could  not  press  her  to  speak  longer  on  a  subject  that  gave 
her  pain.  At  that  moment  she  seemed  more  distant  to 
me  than  ever  before.  She  rose,  went  into  the  house,  and 
left  me  thinking  of  the  presumptions  of  the  hopes  I  had 
dared  to  entertain,  left  me  picturing  sadly  the  existence 
of  which  she  had  spoken.  Why  had  she  told  me  of  it  ? 
Perchance  she  had  thought  to  do  me  a  kindness  ! 

She  came  back  to  me  —  I  had  not  thought  she  would. 
She  sat  down  with  her  embroidery  in  her  lap,  and  for  some 
moments  busied  herself  with  it  in  silence.  Then  she  said, 
without  looking  up :  — 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  tired  you  with  this,  why  I 
have  saddened  myself.  It  is  past  and  gone." 

"  I  was  not  tired,  Madame.  It  is  very  difficult  to  live 
in  the  present  when  the  past  has  been  so  brilliant,"  I 
answered. 

"  So  brilliant  !  "  She  sighed.  "  So  thoughtless,  —  I 
think  that  is  the  sharpest  regret."  I  watched  her  fingers 
as  they  stitched,  wondering  how  they  could  work  so  rapidly. 
At  last  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Antoinette  and  Mr. 
Temple  have  told  me  something  of  your  life,  Mr.  Ritchie." 

I  laughed. 

"  It  has  been  very  humble,"  I  replied. 

"  What  I  heard  was — interesting  to  me,"  she  said,  turn 
ing  over  her  frame.  "  Will  you  not  tell  me  something  of 
it?" 

"  Gladly,  Madame,  if  that  is  the  case,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  which  part  you  would  like,  Madame. 
Shall  I  tell  you  about  Colonel  Clark  ?  I  do  not  know 
when  to  begin  —  " 

She  dropped  her  sewing  in  her  lap  and  looked  up  at  me 
quickly. 


586  THE  CROSSING 

"  I  told  you  that  you  were  a  strange  man,"  she  said. 
"I  almost  lose  patience  with  you.  No,  don't  tell  me 
about  Colonel  Clark  —  at  least  not  until  you  come  to  him. 
Begin  at  the  beginning,  at  the  cabin  in  the  mountains." 

"  You  want  the  whole  of  it  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

She  picked  up  her  embroidery  again  and  bent  over  it 
with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  I  want  the  whole  of  it." 

So  I  began  at  the  cabin  in  the  mountains.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  ever  forgot  she  was  listening,  but  I  lost  myself  in 
the  narrative.  It  presented  to  me,  for  the  first  time,  many 
aspects  that  I  had  not  thought  of.  For  instance,  that  I 
should  be  here  now  in  Louisiana  telling  it  to  one  who  had 
been  the  companion  and  friend  of  the  Queen  of  France. 
Once  in  a  while  the  Vicomtesse  would  look  up  at  me 
swiftly,  when  I  paused,  and  then  go  on  with  her  work 
again.  I  told  her  of  Temple  Bow,  and  how  I  had  run 
away  ;  of  Polly  Ann  and  Tom,  of  the  Wilderness  Trail 
and  how  I  shot  Cutcheon,  of  the  fight  at  Crab  Orchard, 
of  the  life  in  Kentucky,  of  Clark  and  his  campaign.  Of 
my  doings  since ;  how  I  had  found  Nick  and  how  he  had 
come  to  New  Orleans  with  me  ;  of  my  life  as  a  lawyer  in 
Louisville,  of  the  conventions  I  had  been  to.  The  morn 
ing  wore  on  to  midday,  and  I  told  her  more  than  I  be 
lieved  it  possible  to  tell  any  one.  When  at  last  I  had 
finished  a  fear  grew  upon  me  that  I  had  told  her  too  much. 
Her  fingers  still  stitched,  her  head  was  bent  and  I  could 
not  see  her  face,  —  only  the  knot  of  her  hair  coiled  with 
an  art  that  struck  me  suddenly.  Then  she  spoke,  and  her 
voice  was  very  low. 

"  I  love  Polly  Ann,"  she  said  ;  "  I  should  like  to  know 
her." 

"I  wish  that  you  could  know  her,"  I  answered, 
quickening. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  looked  at  me  with  an  expres 
sion  that  was  not  a  smile.  I  could  not  say  what  it  was, 
or  what  it  meant. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  stupid,"  she  said,  in  the  same 
tone,  "  but  I  do  not  believe  you  know  how  remarkable 


«UNPATHED  WATERS,  UNDREAMED  SHORES"   587 

your  life  has  been.  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  you  have 
seen  all  this,  have  done  all  this,  have  felt  all  this.  You 
are  a  lawyer,  a  man  of  affairs,  and  yet  you  could  guide 
me  over  the  hidden  paths  of  half  a  continent.  You  know 
the  mountain  ranges,  the  passes,  the  rivers,  the  fords,  the 
forest  trails,  the  towns  and  the  men  who  made  them  !  " 
She  picked  up  her  sewing  and  bent  over  it  once  more. 
"  And  yet  you  did  not  think  that  this  would  interest  me." 

Perchance  it  was  a  subtle  summons  in  her  voice  I  heard 
that  bade  me  open  the  flood-gates  of  my  heart,  —  I  know 
not.  I  know  only  that  no  power  on  earth  could  have  held 
me  silent  then. 

"Helene ! "  I  said,  and  stopped.  My  heart  beat  so  wildly 
that  I  could  hear  it.  "  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  dare 
to  think  of  you,  to  look  up  to  you  —  Helene,  I  love  you, 
I  shall  love  you  till  I  die.  I  love  you  with  all  the  strength 
that  is  in  me,  with  all  my  soul.  You  know  it,  and  if  you 
did  not  I  could  hide  it  no  more.  As  long  as  I  live  there 
will  never  be  another  woman  in  the  world  for  me.  I  love 
you.  You  will  forgive  me  because  of  the  torture  I  have 
suffered,  because  of  the  pain  I  shall  suffer  when  I  think  of 
you  in  the  years  to  come." 

Her  sewing  dropped  to  her  lap  —  to  the  floor.  She 
looked  at  me,  and  the  light  which  I  saw  in  her  eyes  flooded 
my  soul  with  a  joy  beyond  my  belief.  I  trembled  with  a 
wonder  that  benumbed  me.  I  would  have  got  to  my  feet 
had  she  not  come  to  me  swiftly,  that  I  might  not  rise. 
She  stood  above  me,  I  lifted  up  my  arms  ;  she  bent  to  me 
with  a  movement  that  conferred  a  priceless  thing. 

"  David,"  she  said,  "  could  you  not  tell  that  I  loved  you, 
that  you  were  he  who  has  been  in  my  mind  for  so  many 
years,  and  in  my  heart  since  I  saw  you  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  tell,"  I  said.  "  I  dared  not  think  it. 
I  —  I  thought  there  was  another." 

She  was  seated  on  the  arm  of  my  chair.  She  drew  back 
her  head  with  a  smile  trembling  on  her  lips,  with  a  lustre 
burning  in  her  eyes  like  a  vigil  —  a  vigil  for  me. 

"  He  reminded  me  of  you,"  she  answered. 

I  was  lost  in  sheer,  bewildering  happiness.     And  she 


588  THE  CKOSSIKG 

who  created  it,  who  herself  was  that  happiness,  roused  me 
from  it. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  was  thinking  that  a  star  has  fallen,  —  that  I  may 
have  a  jewel  beyond  other  men,"  I  said. 

"  And  a  star  has  risen  for  me,"  she  said,  "  that  I  may 
have  a  guide  beyond  other  women." 

"Then  it  is  you  who  have  raised  it,  Helene."  I  was 
silent  a  moment,  trying  again  to  bring  the  matter  within 
my  grasp.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you  love  me,  that  you  will 
marry  me,  that  you  will  come  back  to  Kentucky  with  me 
and  will  be  content,  —  you,  who  have  been  the  companion 
of  a  Queen  ?  " 

There  came  an  archness  into  her  look  that  inflamed  me 
the  more. 

"  I,  who  have  been  the  companion  of  a  Queen,  love  you, 
will  marry  you,  will  go  back  to  Kentucky  with  you  and 
be  content,"  she  repeated.  "  And  yet  not  I,  David,  but 
another  woman  —  a  happy  woman.  You  shall  be  my 
refuge,  my  strength,  my  guide.  You1  will  lead  me  over 
the  mountains  and  through  the  wilderness  by  the  paths 
you  know.  You  will  bring  me  to  Polly  Ann  that  I  may 
thank  her  for  the  gift  of  you,  —  above  all  other  gifts  in 
the  world." 

I  was  silent  again. 

"  Helene,"  I  said  at  last,  "  will  you  give  me  the  minia 
ture  ?  " 

"  On  one  condition,"  she  replied. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "yes.     And  again  yes.     What  is  it  ?" 

"That  you  will  obey  me  —  sometimes." 

"  It  is  a  privilege  I  long  for,"  I  answered. 

"  You  did  not  begin  with  promise,"  she  said. 

I  released  her  hand,  and  she  drew  the  ivory  from  her 
gown  and  gave  it  me.  I  kissed  it. 

"  I  will  go  to  Monsieur  Isadore's  and  get  the  frame," 
I  said. 

"  When  I  give  you  permission,"  said  Helene,  gently. 

I  have  written  this  story  for  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XV 

AN  EPISODE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF   A  MAN 

OUT  of  the  blood  and  ashes  of  France  a  Man  had  arisen 
who  moved  real  kings  and  queens  on  his  chess-board  — 
which  was  a  large  part  of  the  world.  The  Man  was  Napo 
leon  Buonaparte,  at  present,  for  lack  of  a  better  name, 
First  Consul  of  the  French  Republic.  The  Man's  eye, 
sweeping  the  world  for  a  new  plaything,  had  rested  upon 
one  which  had  excited  the  fancy  of  lesser  adventurers,  of 
one  John  Law,  for  instance.  It  was  a  large,  unwieldy 
plaything  indeed,  and  remote.  It  was  nothing  less  than 
that  vast  and  mysterious  country  which  lay  beyond  the 
monster  yellow  River  of  the  Wilderness,  the  country  bor 
dered  on  the  south  by  the  Gulf  swamps,  on  the  north  by 
no  man  knew  what  forests,  —  as  dark  as  those  the  Romans 
found  in  Gaul,  —  on  the  west  by  a  line  which  other  genera 
tions  might  be  left  to  settle. 

This  land  was  Louisiana. 

A  future  king  of  France,  while  an  SmigrZ,  had  been  to 
Louisiana.  This  is  merely  an  interesting  fact  worth 
noting.  It  was  not  interesting  to  Napoleon. 

Napoleon,  by  dint  of  certain  screws  which  he  tightened 
on  his  Catholic  Majesty,  King  Charles  of  Spain,  in  the 
Treaty  of  San  Ildefonso  on  the  1st  of  October,  1800,  got 
his  plaything.  Louisiana  was  French  again, —  whatever 
French  was  in  those  days.  The  treaty  was  a  profound 
secret.  But  secrets  leak  out,  even  the  profoundest;  and 
this  was  wafted  across  the  English  Channel  to  the  ears  of 
Mr.  Rufus  King,  American  Minister  at  London,  who 
wrote  of  it  to  one  Thomas  Jefferson,  President  of  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Jefferson  was  interested,  not  to  say 
alarmed. 


590  THE  CROSSING 

Mr.  Robert  Livingston  was  about  to  depart  on  his  mis 
sion  from  the  little  Republic  of  America  to  the  great 
Republic  of  France.  Mr.  Livingston  was  told  not  to 
make  himself  disagreeable,  but  to  protest.  If  Spain  was 
to  give  up  the  plaything,  the  Youngest  Child  among  the 
Nations  ought  to  have  it.  It  lay  at  her  doors,  it  was 
necessary  for  her  growth. 

Mr.  Livingston  arrived  in  France  to  find  that  Louisiana 
was  a  mere  pawn  on  the  chess-board,  the  Republic  he  rep 
resented  little  more.  He  protested,  and  the  great  Talley 
rand  shrugged  his  shoulders.  What  was  Monsieur  talking 
about?  A  treaty.  What  treaty?  A  treaty  with  Spain 
ceding  back  Louisiana  to  France  after  forty  years.  Who 
said  there  was  such  a  treaty?  Did  Monsieur  take  snuff? 
Would  Monsieur  call  again  when  the  Minister  was  less 
busy? 

Monsieur  did  call  again,  taking  care  not  to  make  him 
self  disagreeable.  He  was  offered  snuff.  He  called  again, 
pleasantly.  He  was  offered  snuff.  He  called  again.  The 
great  Talleyrand  laughed.  He  was  always  so  happy  to 
see  Monsieur  when  he  (Talleyrand)  was  not  busy.  He 
would  give  Monsieur  a  certificate  of  importunity.  He 
had  quite  forgotten  what  Monsieur  was  talking  about  on 
former  occasions.  Oh,  yes,  a  treaty.  Well,  suppose  there 
was  such  a  treaty,  what  then  ? 

What  then  ?  Mr.  Livingston,  the  agreeable  but  im 
portunate,  went  home  and  wrote  a  memorial,  and  was 
presently  assured  that  the  inaccessible  Man  who  was 
called  First  Consul  had  read  it  with  interest  —  great 
interest.  Mr.  Livingston  did  not  cease  to  indulge  in  his 
enjoyable  visits  to  Talleyrand  —  not  he.  But  in  the  inter 
vals  he  sat  down  to  think. 

What  did  the  inaccessible  Man  himself  have  in  his 
mind? 

The  Man  had  been  considering  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
and  in  particular  that  portion  of  it  which  inhabited  the 
Western  Hemisphere.  He  perceived  that  they  were  a 
quarrelsome  people,  which  possessed  the  lust  for  land  and 
conquest  like  the  rest  of  their  blood.  He  saw  with 


AN  EPISODE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF  A  MAN      591 

astonishment  something  that  had  happened,  something 
that  they  had  done.  Unperceived  by  the  world,  in  five 
and  twenty  years  they  had  swept  across  a  thousand  miles 
of  mountain  and  forest  wilderness  in  ever  increasing 
thousands,  had  beaten  the  fiercest  of  savage  tribes  before 
them,  stolidly  unmindful  of  their  dead.  They  had  come 
at  length  to  the  great  yellow  River,  and  finding  it  closed 
had  cried  aloud  in  their  anger.  What  was  beyond  it  to 
stop  them  ?  Spain,  with  a  handful  of  subjects  inherited 
from  the  France  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth. 

Could  Spain  stop  them  ?  No.  But  he,  the  Man,  would 
stop  them.  He  would  raise  up  in  Louisiana  as  a  monu 
ment  to  himself  a  daughter  of  France  to  curb  their  ambi 
tion.  America  should  not  be  all  Anglo-Saxon. 

Already  the  Americans  had  compelled  Spain  to  open 
the  River.  How  long  before  they  would  overrun  Loui 
siana  itself,  until  a  Frenchman  or  a  Spaniard  could  scarce 
be  found  in  the  land  ? 

Sadly,  in  accordance  with  the  treaty  which  Monsieur 
Talleyrand  had  known  nothing  about,  his  Catholic  Majesty 
instructed  his  Intendant  at  New  Orleans  to  make  ready  to 
deliver  Louisiana  to  the  French  Commission.  That  was  in 
July,  1802.  This  was  not  exactly  an  order  to  close  the  River 
again  —  in  fact,  his  Majesty  said  nothing  about  closing  the 
River.  Mark  the  reasoning  of  the  Spanish  mind.  The 
Intendant  closed  the  River  as  his  plain  duty.  And  Ken 
tucky  and  Tennessee,  wayward,  belligerent  infants  who 
had  outgrown  their  swaddling  clothes,  were  heard  from 
again.  The  Nation  had  learned  to  listen  to  them.  The 
Nation  was  very  angry.  Mr.  Hamilton  and  the  Federalists 
and  many  others  would  have  gone  to  war  and  seized  the 
Floridas. 

Mr.  Jefferson  said,  "Wait  and  see  what  his  Catholic 
Majesty  has  to  say."  Mr.  Jefferson  was  a  man  of  great 
wisdom,  albeit  he  had  mistaken  Jacobinism  for  something 
else  when  he  was  younger.  And  he  knew  that  Napoleon 
could  not  play  chess  in  the  wind.  The  wind  was  rising. 

Mr.  Livingston  was  a  patriot,  able,  importunate,  but 
getting  on  in  years  and  a  little  hard  of  hearing.  Impor- 


592  THE  CROSSING 

tunity  without  an  Army  and  a  Navy  behind  it  is  not 
effective  —  especially  when  there  is  no  wind.  But  Mr. 
Jefferson  heard  the  wind  rising,  and  he  sent  Mr.  Monroe 
to  Mr.  Livingston's  aid.  Mr.  Monroe  was  young,  witty, 
lively,  popular  with  people  he  met.  He,  too,  heard  the 
wind  rising,  and  so  now  did  Mr.  Livingston. 

The  ships  containing  the  advance  guard  of  the  colonists 
destined  for  the  new  Louisiana  lay  in  the  roads  at  Dunkirk, 
their  anchors  ready  to  weigh,  —  three  thousand  men,  three 
thousand  horses,  for  the  Man  did  things  on  a  large  scale. 
The  anchors  were  not  weighed. 

His  Catholic  Majesty  sent  word  from  Spain  to  Mr. 
Jefferson  that  he  was  sorry  his  Intendant  had  been  so 
foolish.  The  River  was  opened  again. 

The  Treaty  of  Amiens  was  a  poor  wind-shield.  It  blew 
down,  and  the  chessmen  began  to  totter.  One  George  of 
England,  noted  for  his  frugal  table  and  his  quarrelsome 
disposition,  who  had  previously  fought  with  France,  began 
to  call  the  Man  names.  The  Man  called  George  names, 
and  sat  down  to  think  quickly.  George  could  not  be  said 
to  be  on  the  best  of  terms  with  his  American  relations,  but 
the  Anglo-Saxon  is  unsentimental,  phlegmatic,  setting 
money  and  trade  and  lands  above  ideals.  George  meant 
to  go  to  war  again.  Napoleon  also  meant  to  go  to  war 
again.  But  George  meant  to  go  to  war  again  right  away, 
which  was  inconvenient  and  inconsiderate,  for  Napoleon 
had  not  finished  his  game  of  chess.  The  obvious  outcome 
of  the  situation  was  that  George  with  his  Navy  would  get 
Louisiana,  or  else  help  his  relations  to  get  it.  In  either 
case  Louisiana  would  become  Anglo-Saxon. 

This  was  the  wind  which  Mr.  Jefferson  had  heard. 

The  Man,  being  a  genius  who  let  go  gracefully  when  he 
had  to,  decided  between  two  bad  bargains.  He  would  sell 
Louisiana  to  the  Americans  as  a  favor  ;  they  would  be 
very,  very  grateful,  and  they  would  go  on  hating  George. 
Moreover,  he  would  have  all  the  more  money  with  which 
to  fight  George. 

The  inaccessible  Man  suddenly  became  accessible.  Nay, 
he  became  gracious,  smiling,  full  of  loving-kindness,  chari- 


AN  EPISODE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF  A  MAN      593 

table.  Certain  dickerings  followed  by  a  bargain  passed 
between  the  American  Minister  and  Monsieur  Barbe- 
Marbois.  Then  Mr.  Livingston  and  Mr.  Monroe  dined 
with  the  hitherto  inaccessible.  And  the  Man,  after  the 
manner  of  Continental  Personages,  asked  questions. 
Frederick  the  Great  has  started  this  fashion,  and  many 
have  imitated  it. 

Louisiana  became  American  at  last.  Whether  by  des 
tiny  or  chance,  whether  by  the  wisdom  of  Jefferson  or  the 
necessity  of  Napoleon,  who  can  say  ?  It  seems  to  me, 
David  Ritchie,  writing  many  years  after  the  closing  words 
of  the  last  chapter  were  penned,  that  it  was  ours  inevi 
tably.  For  I  have  seen  and  known  and  loved  the  people 
with  all  their  crudities  and  faults,  whose  inheritance  it  was 
by  right  of  toil  and  suffering  and  blood. 

And  I,  David  Ritchie,  saw  the  flags  of  three  nations 
waving  over  it  in  the  space  of  two  days.  And  it  came  to 
pass  in  this  wise. 

Rumors  of  these  things  which  I  have  told  above  had 
filled  Kentucky  from  time  to  time,  and  in  November  of 
1803  there  came  across  the  mountains  the  news  that  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States  had  ratified  the  treaty  between 
our  ministers  and  Napoleon. 

I  will  not  mention  here  what  my  life  had  become,  what 
my  fortune,  save  to  say  that  both  had  been  far  beyond  my 
expectations.  In  worldly  goods  and  honors,  in  the  respect 
and  esteem  of  my  fellow-men,  I  had  been  happy  indeed. 
But  I  had  been  blessed  above  other  men  by  one  whose 
power  it  was  to  lift  me  above  the  mean  and  sordid  things 
of  this  world. 

Many  times  in  the  pursuit  of  my  affairs  I  journeyed 
over  that  country  which  I  had  known  when  it  belonged 
to  the  Indian  and  the  deer  and  the  elk  and  the  wolf  and 
the  buffalo.  Often  did  she  ride  by  my  side,  making  light 
of  the  hardships  which,  indeed,  were  no  hardships  to  her, 
wondering  at  the  settlements  which  had  sprung  up  like 
magic  in  the  wilderness,  which  were  the  heralds  of  the 
greatness  of  the  Republic,  —  her  country  now. 

So,  in  the  bright  and  boisterous  March  weather  of  the 


594  THE   CROSSING 

year  1804,  we  found  ourselves  riding  together  along 
the  way  made  memorable  by  the  footsteps  of  Clark  and 
his  backwoodsmen.  For  I  had  an  errand  in  St.  Louis 
with  Colonel  Chouteau.  A  subtle  change  had  come  upon 
Kaskaskia  with  the  new  blood  which  was  flowing  into  it : 
we  passed  Cahokia,  full  of  memories  to  the  drummer  boy 
whom  she  loved.  There  was  the  church,  the  garri 
son,  the  stream,  and  the  little  house  where  my  Colonel 
and  I  had  lived  together.  She  must  see  them  all,  she 
must  hear  the  story  from  my  lips  again  ;  and  the  telling  of 
it  to  her  gave  it  a  new  fire  and  a  new  life. 

At  evening,  when  the  March  wind  had  torn  the  cotton 
clouds  to  shreds,  we  stood  on  the  Mississippi's  bank, 
gazing  at  the  western  shore,  at  Louisiana.  The  low, 
forest-clad  hills  made  a  black  band  against  the  sky,  and 
above  the  band  hung  the  sun,  a  red  ball.  He  was  setting, 
and  man  might  look  upon  his  face  without  fear.  The 
sight  of  the  waters  of  that  river  stirred  me  to  think  of 
many  things.  What  had  God  in  store  for  the  vast  land 
out  of  which  the  waters  flowed  ?  Had  He,  indeed,  saved 
it  for  a  People,  a  People  to  be  drawn  from  all  nations, 
from  all  classes  ?  Was  the  principle  of  the  Republic  to 
prevail  and  spread  and  change  the  complexion  of  the 
world  ?  Or  were  the  lusts  of  greed  and  power  to  increase 
until  in  the  end  they  had  swallowed  the  leaven  ?  Who 
could  say  ?  What  man  of  those  who,  soberly,  had  put 
his  hand  to  the  Paper  which  declared  the  opportunities  of 
generations  to  come,  could  measure  the  Force  which  he 
had  helped  to  set  in  motion. 

We  crossed  the  river  to  the  village  where  I  had  been  so 
kindly  received  many  years  ago  —  to  St.  Louis.  The 
place  was  little  changed.  The  wind  was  stilled,  the  blue 
wood  smoke  curled  lazily  from  the  wide  stone  chimneys 
of  the  houses  nestling  against  the  hill.  The  afterglow 
was  fading  into  night  ;  lights  twinkled  in  the  windows. 
Followed  by  our  servants  we  climbed  the  bank,  Helene 
and  I,  and  walked  the  quiet  streets  bordered  by  palings. 
The  evening  was  chill.  We  passed  a  bright  cabaret  from 
which  came  the  sound  of  many  voices  ;  in  the  blacksmith's 


AN  EPISODE  IN  THE  LIFE   OF  A  MAN      595 

shop  another  group  was  gathered,  and  we  saw  faces  eager 
in  the  red  light.  They  were  talking  of  the  Cession. 

We  passed  that  place  where  Nick  had  stopped  Suzanne 
in  the  cart,  and  laughed  at  the  remembrance.  We  came 
to  Monsieur  Gratiot's,  for  he  had  bidden  us  to  stay  with 
him.  And  with  Madame  he  gave  us  a  welcome  to  warm 
our  hearts  after  our  journey. 

"  David,"  he  said,  "  I  have  seen  many  strange  things 
happen  in  my  life,  but  the  strangest  of  all  is  that  Clark's 
drummer  boy  should  have  married  a  Vicomtesse  of  the  old 
regime." 

And  she  was  ever  Madame  la  Vicomtesse  to  our  good 
friends  in  St.  Louis,  for  she  was  a  woman  to  whom  a  title 
came  as  by  nature's  right. 

"  And  you  are  about  to  behold  another  strange  thing, 
David,"  Monsieur  Gratiot  continued.  "  To-day  you  are  on 
French  territory." 

"French  territory!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  To-day  Upper  Louisiana  is  French,"  he  answered. 
"  To-morrow  it  will  be  American  forever.  This  morning 
Captain  Stoddard  of  the  United  States  Army,  empowered 
to  act  as  a  Commissioner  of  the  French  Republic,  arrived 
with  Captain  Lewis  and  a  guard  of  American  troops.  To 
day,  at  noon,  the  flag  of  Spain  was  lowered  from  the  staff 
at  the  headquarters.  To-night  a  guard  of  honor  watches 
with  the  French  Tricolor,  and  we  are  French  for  the  last 
time.  To-morrow  we  shall  be  Americans." 

I  saw  that  simple  ceremony.  The  little  company  of 
soldiers  was  drawn  up  before  the  low  stone  headquarters, 
the  villagers  with  heads  uncovered  gathered  round  about. 
I  saw  the  Stars  and  Stripes  rising,  the  Tricolor  setting. 
They  met  midway  on  the  staff,  hung  together  for  a  space, 
and  a  salute  to  the  two  nations  echoed  among  the  hills 
across  the  waters  of  the  great  River  that  rolled  impas 
sive  by. 


AFTERWORD 

THIS  book  has  been  named  "  The  Crossing "  because  I 
have  tried  to  express  in  it  the  beginnings  of  that  great 
movement  across  the  mountains  which  swept  resistless  over 
the  Continent  until  at  last  it  saw  the  Pacific  itself.  The 
Crossing  was  the  first  instinctive  reaching  out  of  an  infant 
nation  which  was  one  day  to  become  a  giant.  No  annals 
in  the  world's  history  are  more  wonderful  than  the  story 
of  the  conquest  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  by  the 
pioneers. 

This  name,  "  The  Crossing,"  is  likewise  typical  in  another 
sense.  The  political  faith  of  our  forefathers,  of  which  the 
Constitution  is  the  creed,  was  made  to  fit  a  more  or  less 
homogeneous  body  of  people  who  proved  that  they  knew 
the  meaning  of  the  word  "  Liberty."  By  Liberty,  our  fore 
fathers  meant  the  Duty  as  well  as  the  Right  of  man  to 
govern  himself.  The  Constitution  amply  attests  the  great 
ness  of  its  authors,  but  it  was  a  compromise.  It  was  an 
attempt  to  satisfy  thirteen  colonies,  each  of  which  clung 
tenaciously  to  its  identity.  It  suited  the  eighteenth-cen 
tury  conditions  of  a  little  English-speaking  confederacy 
along  the  seaboard,  far  removed  from  the  world's  strife  and 
jealousy.  It  scarcely  contemplated  that  the  harassed 
millions  of  Europe  would  flock  to  its  fold,  and  it  did  not 
foresee  that,  in  less  than  a  hundred  years,  its  own  citizens 
would  sweep  across  the  three  thousand  miles  of  forest  and 
plain  and  mountain  to  the  Western  Ocean,  absorb  French 
and  Spanish  Louisiana,  Spanish  Texas,  Mexico,  and  Cali 
fornia,  fill  this  land  with  broad  farmsteads  and  populous 
cities,  cover  it  with  a  network  of  railroads. 

Would  the  Constitution,  made  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
little  confederacy  of  the  seaboard,  stretch  over  a  Continent 
and  an  Empire  ? 

696 


AFTERWORD  597 

We  are  fighting  out  that  question  to-day.  But  The 
Crossing  was  in  Daniel  Boone's  time,  in  George  Rogers 
Clark's.  Would  the  Constitution  stand  the  strain  ?  And 
will  it  stand  the  strain  now  that  the  once  remote  haven  of 
the  oppressed  has  become  a  world-power? 

It  was  a  difficult  task  in  a  novel  to  gather  the  elements 
necessary  to  picture  this  movement:  the  territory  was 
vast,  the  types  bewildering.  The  lonely  mountain  cabin ; 
the  seigniorial  life  of  the  tide-water ;  the  foothills  and 
mountains  which  the  Scotch-Irish  have  marked  for  their 
own  to  this  day;  the  Wilderness  Trail;  the  wonderland 
of  Kentucky,  and  the  cruel  fighting  in  the  border  forts 
there  against  the  most  relentless  of  foes  ;  George  Rogers 
Clark  and  his  momentous  campaign  which  gave  to  the 
Republic  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois ;  the  transition  period 
—  the  coming  of  the  settler  after  the  pioneer ;  Louisiana, 
St.  Louis,  and  New  Orleans,  —  to  cover  this  ground,  to 
picture  the  passions  and  politics  of  the  time,  to  bring  the 
counter  influence  of  the  French  Revolution  as  near  as  pos 
sible  to  reality,  has  been  a  three  years'  task.  The  auto 
biography  of  David  Ritchie  is  as  near  as  I  can  get  to  its 
solution,  and  I  have  a  great  sense  of  its  incompleteness. 

I  had  hoped  when  I  planned  the  series  to  bring  down 
this  novel  through  the  stirring  period  which  ended,  by  a 
chance,  when  a  steamboat  brought  supplies  to  Jackson's 
army  in  New  Orleans  —  the  beginning  of  the  era  of  steam 
commerce  on  our  Western  waters.  This  work  will  have 
to  be  reserved  for  a  future  time. 

I  have  tried  to  give  a  true  history  of  Clark's  campaign 
as  seen  by  an  eyewitness,  trammelled  as  little  as  possible 
by  romance.  Elsewhere,  as  I  look  back  through  these  pages, 
I  feel  as  though  the  soil  had  only  been  scraped.  What  prin 
cipality  in  the  world  has  the  story  to  rival  that  of  John 
Sevier  and  the  State  of  Franklin  ?  I  have  tried  to  tell  the 
truth  as  I  went  along.  General  Jackson  was  a  boy  at  the 
Waxhaws  and  dug  his  toes  in  the  red  mud.  He  was  a 
man  at  Jonesboro,  and  tradition  says  that  he  fought  with  a 
fence-rail.  Sevier  was  captured  as  narrated.  Monsieur 
Gratiot,  Monsieur  Vigo,  and  Father  Gibault  lost  the  money 


598  THE  CROSSING 

which  they  gave  to  Clark  and  their  country.  Monsieur 
Vigo  actually  travelled  in  the  state  which  Davy  describes 
when  he  went  down  the  river  with  him.  Monsieur  Gratiot 
and  Colonel  Auguste  Chouteau  and  Madame  Chouteau  are 
names  so  well  known  in  St.  Louis  that  it  is  superfluous  to 
say  that  such  persons  existed  and  were  the  foremost  citizens 
of  the  community. 

Among  the  many  to  whom  my  apologies  and  thanks  are 
due  is  Mr.  Pierre  Chouteau  of  St.  Louis,  whose  unremitting 
labors  have  preserved  and  perpetuated  the  history  and 
traditions  of  the  country  of  his  ancestors.  I  would  that  I 
had  been  better  able  to  picture  the  character,  the  courage, 
the  ability,  and  patriotism  of  the  French  who  settled  Louisi 
ana.  The  Republic  owes  them  much,  and  their  descend 
ants  are  to-day  among  the  stanchest  preservers  of  her 
ideals. 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL. 
BOSTON,  April  18,  1904. 


Grosset   (&L  Dunlap's    Popular   (Series 
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A  TOAST :  "  To  the  bravest  comrade  in  misfortune,  the  sweetest 
companion  in  peace  and  at  all  times  the  most  courageous  of  women." 
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SUSAN.    By  Ernest  Oldmeadow.    With  a  color  frontispiece 

by  Frank  Haviland.  Medalion  in  color  on  front  cover. 
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be  sees  in  one  of  her  walks  accompanied  by  her  maid,  Susan. 
Through  a  misapprehension  of  personalities  his  lordship  addresses 
a  love  missive  to  the  maid.  Susan  accepts  in  perfect  good  faith, 
and  an  epistolary  love-making  goes  on  till  they  are  disillusioned.  It 
naturally  makes  a  droll  and  delightful  little  comedy ;  and  is  a  story 
that  is  particularly  clever  in  the  telling. 

WHEN  PATTY  WENT  TO  COLLEGE.    By  Jean  Web- 

ster.  With  illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 
"The  book  is  a  treasure." — Chicago  Daily  News.  "Bright, 
•whimsical,  and  thoroughly  entertaining." — Buffalo  Express.  "One 
of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  been  writ 
ten." — N.  Y.  Press.  "To  any  woman  who  has  enjoyed  the  pleasures 
of  a  college  life  this  book  cannot  fail  to  bring  back  many  sweet  recol 
lections  ;  and  to  those  who  have  not  been  to  college  the  wit,  lightness, 
and  charm  of  Patty  are  sure  to  be  no  less  delightful.  "—Public  Opinion. 

THE  MASQUERADER.      By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

With  illustrations  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
"  You  can't  drop  it  till  you  have  turned  the  last  page." — Cleveland 
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most  takes  one's  breath  away.  The  boldness  of  its  denouement 
is  sublime." — Boston  Transcript.  "  The  literary  hit  of  a  generation. 
The  best  of  it  is  the  story  deserves  all  its  success.  A  masterly  story." 
— St.  Louis  Dispatch.  "  The  story  is  ingeniously  told,  and  cleverly 
constructed." — The  Dial. 

THE  GAMBLER.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston.     With 

illustrations  by  John  Campbell. 

"  Tells  of  a  high  strung  young  Irish  woman  who  has  a  passion  for 
gambling,  inhented  from  a  long  line  of  sporting  ancestors.  She  has 
a  high  sense  of  honor,  too,  and  that  causes  complications.  She  is  a 
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With  illustrations  by  Martin  Justice. 

"  As  superlatively  clever  in  the  writing  as  it  is  entertaining  in  the 
reading.  It  is  actual  comedy  of  the  most  artistic  sort,  and  it  is 
handled  with  a  freshness  and  originality  that  is  unquestionably 
novel."— Boston  Transcript.  "  A  feast  of  humor  and  good  cheer, 
yet  subtly  pervaded  by  special  shades  of  feeling,  fancy,  tenderness, 
or  whimsicality.  A  merry  thing  in  prose." — St.  Louis  Democrat. 

ROSE  O'  THE  RIVER.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin.    With 

illustrations  by  George  Wright. 

"'Rose  o'  the  River,'  a  charming  bit  of  sentiment,  gracefully 
written  and  deftly  touched  with  a  gentle  humor.  It  is  a  dainty  book 
—daintily  illustrated." — New  York  Tribune.  "A  wholesome,  bright, 
refreshing  story,  an  ideal  book  to  give  a  young  girl." — Chicago 
Record- Her  aid.  "  An  idyllic  story,  replete  with  pathos  and  inimita 
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TILLIE  :    A  Mennonite  Maid.    By  Helen  R.  Martin.    With 

illustrations  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

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beauty  and  love ;  and  she  comes  into  her  inheritance  at  the  end. 
"Tillie  is  faulty,  sensitive,  big-hearted,  eminently  human,  and  first, 
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LADY  ROSE'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward. 

With  illustrations  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
•'The  most  marvellous  work  of  its  wonderful  author." — New  York 
World.  "We  touch  regions  and  attain  altitudes  which  it  is  not  given 
to  the  ordinary  novelist  even  to  approach." — London  Times.  "In 
no  other  story  has  Mrs.  Ward  approached  the  brilliancy  and  vivacity 
of  l^ady  Rose's  Daughter." — North  American  Review. 

THE  BANKER  AND  THE  BEAR.  By  Henry  K.  Webster. 
"  An  exciting  and  absorbing  story." — New  York  Times.  "Intense 
ly  thrilling  in  parts,  but  an  unusually  good  story  all  through.  There 
is  a  love  affair  of  real  charm  and  most  novel  surroundings,  there  is  a 
run  on  the  bank  which  is  almost  worth  a  year's  growth,  and  there  is 
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